


Tension/Balance

by KerylRaist



Series: Tao of the Force [1]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, First Time, Het, Nature of Good and Evil, PWP Porn With Philosophy, Slow Build, Tao of the Force, The Dark Side of the Force, The Light Side of the Force, What's the point of power?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-02-19 04:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 62,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13116240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KerylRaist/pseuds/KerylRaist
Summary: The Force Bond won't quit. Obviously, whatever it is the Force expects from Rey and Kylo isn't done, not yet. Why? What does it need them to do?Reylo, smut (eventually), great ponderings of the nature of power and the Force. Basically, if space wizards wrestling with good and evil (occasionally with each other, and naked) sparks your jollies, this one'll be for you.





	1. In Which Our Heroes Are Not Done With Each Other (Though They May Want To Be)

**Author's Note:**

> I love the Star Wars movies, but I haven't read the books or seen the cartoons or... So, this is canon to the movies, and the bits and bobs I'm looking up on Wookiepedia to make sure I've got the details right. As for the rest of it... Not in this story.

“Snoke is dead. You shouldn’t be here,” Rey says to the image of Ben before her.

“I agree.”

They watch each other, but nothing happens. Neither of them blinks away from the other’s mind.

“I still can’t see where you are. Can you see where I am?” Ben asks.

She sighs. He’ll be here, or she’ll be there, or… whatever… until they aren’t. “Not really. I can see you. You’re sitting on something, cross-legged. You’re… in a pair of pants. Do you just throw your shirt off the second you’re out of sight of the rest of your command?” She’s annoyed as she says it. Why is he always half-naked?

He flashes her a slightly annoyed look in return. “What else am I doing?”

“I don’t know. You’re… calm. Or as calm as you get.”

Ben nods. He shifts position, uncrossing his legs, leaning back against… Something. Whatever it is, she can’t see it.

Her annoyance has bled into curiosity. “Were you… sleeping? Dreaming?”

“Meditating. The Sith are over. Gone. I won’t be one, nor will I train them. I will take what’s of value from them. Anger, hate, jealousy. Passion. There’s power in those emotions. They’re flame. Channel them, and you can do anything. Let them take over, and they’ll eat you alive. Or let you make stupid decisions so someone else eats you. If I don’t want to burn out, fast, I have to have quiet time. Meditations to learn to control the flame, to use it.”

“There’s power in peace,” Rey says.

Ben snorts at that. “Peace is death. Those Jedi… so peaceful they died. The Sith didn’t kill them, they couldn’t have, not if they’d been strong with the Force. They sat in their towers and turned so inward and so peaceful and so controlled the Force abandoned them. That’s what killed them; the Sith just cleaned up their corpses.”

Rey’s never heard that version of it, though… given what Luke said… Ben might be onto something with that. She remembers the feel of the dark place on Ahch-To. Remembers Luke talking about the Force and really _feeling_ it. Balance and tension. Power coming from the pull of cold and warmth, life and death, light and dark.   

Then she’s alone, in the Falcon, hurtling though space, looking for whatever comes next.


	2. All Is As The Force Wills It

Three days later, Kylo is starting his morning. He’s taking advantage of the ten minutes a day when he’s not planning, not trying to decide what comes next, not scurrying to get his military back up to strength, not trying to figure out how to turn Snoke’s machine into his own Empire, to get a shower and shave.

That’s all he wants, a few minutes of quiet to do something normal, and boring, and _human._

_A few minutes where I don't have to solve any problems._

He’s got half his face lathered up, and the other half scraped clean. He almost cuts himself when he hears, “Could you please put a shirt or something on? I know you own clothing. You don’t prance about topless when you’re on the bridge.”

He rolls his eyes. This is the last thing he does before he gets dressed. He assumes Rey has to have quiet moments of getting dressed and ready in the morning or evening, but she doesn’t seem to be able to relate him doing it to anything she does. “Why does it matter to you? It’s just skin. You’ve got it, too.”

Rey’s not about to answer that, or even think about it. He feels her wall something off, fast. But it doesn’t matter, Kylo feels it. Flashes of it, pain, fear, loud voices, the slap of skin on skin, and the smell of drunken sweat, leak from between the bricks in her wall. Bad things happen, or have happened, in places where the men are naked.

He towels off his face and pulls a shirt on, fast. He’s wondering how much of him she can see. Is she not bothered by his lack of pants, or… He steps away from the mirror in front of him. There are _old_ stories about mirrors being able to give other people a view of you, but her image in his mind doesn’t shift, nor does she shift her gaze; she’s still looking him in the face.

“Why are you always naked when you come to me?”

“I don’t _come to you_. I don’t chose this. I’m not pushing myself into your world.”

“And yet you are. And naked.”

“I put a shirt on.”

“Now. The next time you take it off, you’ll pop up in my mind again.” She thinks about that for a moment and then says, “Ewh…” a disgusted look on her face.

Kylo glares at her. He’s close enough he can feel what’s going on in her mind. He knows what she’s imaging him doing. “ _No._ Not that.” He’s not about to imagine _that_ with someone who just _left_ him. “I’m sure you’re _very busy_ with your half dozen rebels off lighting sparks or whatever it is you’re doing out there, but I’m the supreme ruler of an entire galaxy. I am _busy._ My morning and evening ablutions and meditation are the only times I’m not actively thinking of anything else.”

“Oh.” They’re both quiet. She’s looking at his face, really seeing how only half of it is shaved. “And when you’re not… being important and running everything… You think of me?”

But he wasn’t. All he was thinking of… was the glide of a blade over his face. His _scarred_ face. “Not intentionally.”

He feels her train of thought… Trying to figure out why she’s here or he’s there. She’s remembering her vision of the future, of him turning to her side… Maybe that’s why they keep popping up in each other’s minds. He can feel her deciding this is the Force continuing to give her shots at him. “All is as the Force wills it.”

“Perhaps.” He’s indifferent to the idea until he really feels the implications of it, and then it burns in his mind like a beacon. “Do you really believe that?”

“Yes!”

“Do you?” He’s looking at her, very intently, leaning forward, so much longing on his face, and a deep, serious curiosity.

Now she’s not sure. He can see her looking at him like she’s afraid she’s about to step into a trap. “Why?”

“If all is as the Force wills it, then how can I be a monster?”

Rey doesn’t like thinking about that, at all. He can feel her pull away from that idea, the same way one pulls their hand away from something cold and wet and unexpected in a dark room.

“If all is as the Force wills it… You, I, Luke, my parents, and yours, none of us ever made a wrong step. They were all puppets, and so are we. Does that idea comfort you?” Kylo asks.

“No.” That idea makes Rey want to shudder.

“It comforts me.”

“I imagine it would.”

And Kylo is back in his bathroom, alone.

 

* * *

Hux is caught between mortal terror and horror. Terror, if he doesn’t get this done, Kylo is going to kill him. Horror, this is even stupider than shooting every gun they own at a phantom, thus allowing everything that was left of the Resistance to scurry out the back exit and escape.

Fortunately, Kylo doesn’t have guards, and he chose a moment when it’s just the two of them to offer up this latest beyond insane order. Hux hopes that allows him an inch or two of leeway to attempt to countermand this folly. “May I ask why, My Lord?”

“Why?”

“Why destroy Jakku? It’s… nothing and nowhere. The only people who will notice can offer us no malice. We’ve already destroyed their largest settlement and killed everyone even remotely related to the Resistance.”

Kylo can feel it leaching off of Hux, his fear and incredulity, it’s practically visible. They're scrambling around, trying to get the Supremacy back to functional, trying to replace the literally tens of thousands of men they've lost, trying to press the advantage of having destroyed the Resistance, and he wants to go blow a minor planet on the edge of nowhere into rubble.

It was a _stupid_ order. He knew it was stupid as soon as he said it. He let the anger rule him. Bad things happened to Rey there. Bad things happen when the men wear no shirts. When they’re drunk and staggering through the camps. He could feel it. Images of it flowed through her, vibrant flashes of black fear and red pain.

And he decided bad things were going to happen to them.

And now he’s got to cover for it.

“We killed almost everyone in one settlement. We left their friends and family. It’s a wound, waiting to become infected. The Resistance will come back, and they’ll find fertile ground. We need to cauterize it.”

That relaxes Hux a hair. He understands and appreciates that sort of logic. But he’s still scared, for himself, as the man who has to make this happen. His voice is tentative as he says, “With _what,_ my Lord?”

Kylo grits his teeth. Starkiller is gone. They never had a Death Star. He thinks for several more minutes. “The battering ram cannons. Get a geographical survey, find the largest fault lines on the planet, and fire at them until the planet shatters.”

Hux nods, and then a grin slowly spreads across his face. Kylo can feel how much he's looking forward to doing it. “It will take some time.”

“Just do it. And get me some engineers. We need to talk weapons.”


	3. Lineage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas Everyone! I hope everyone is having a good day.

A week after leaving Crait? Nine days? It’s hard to tell, hurtling through space. No night, no day, just a chronometer, and the eventual feel of tiredness, sleeping, and waking. The Resistance has… the barest start of a plan. Each of them have home worlds, planets where they know people, where they can recruit.

The Falcon is taking them to their homes. Scattering them, so they can recuperate, lick their wounds, and with luck, and the Force, grow stronger.

Rey doesn’t know where she’s going, not yet. Not Jakku. Not Ahch-To. Not… anywhere. She does have the start of an idea of a mission. The Jedi are gone, but something has to take their place, and right now, that something is her.

She’s in her favorite thinking place, hiding out in one of the smuggling chambers under the floor of the Falcon. It’s not big. There’s barely enough room for her, but it’s hers and hers alone and that’s all she needs.

She wishes she had more of an idea of where to begin. Of what she can even do with the Force, let alone how or why or _should_.

But she doesn’t.

So… start easy, on your own two feet. Close your eyes, feel the movement of the energy around you.

Make it harder, one foot, and toes of the other. Settle in, learn the currents of the Force. She can feel it, flowing around her. It’s never still, always ebbing and flowing, swirling in patterns she can’t quite see, but can almost feel.

Harder yet, one foot. Hold it, feel it, and let the Force support you. It’s there, all around you, at all times. It will cradle you if you let it.

There… right there. It surrounds you, holds you, lift up… feet off the ground.

Balance.

“I could do that when I was six.”

Rey goes tumbling to the ground.

She scrambles around, and sees Ben leaning against…It’s probably a wall, but it’s not the wall of her chamber. He’s wearing… she’s mildly surprised to see it. She supposes that if she thought about it, she’d have to assume he has pajamas, but she didn’t expect it. It’s a soft, shapeless robe, long worn if she had to guess, and it’s blue. He’s either going to bed, or just up. “If I’d had a teacher from the day I was born, I’d have been doing this when I was four.”

He seems to think about it, and looks her over, then nods, conceding her point. “I had nannies from the day I was born. I didn’t even meet my _Uncle_ Luke until my mother handed me over to him. Apparently, when you ‘rebel’ and don’t bother to think through how that works, you destroy the infrastructure of the entire galaxy in a few swift moves, and then, shockingly enough, it’s _difficult_ to get allies to join you. And, on top of that, you make _enemies,_ so it’s a bad idea to have your whole family together in one place. My parents were _eternally_ off trying to turn the Rebellion into a government, gathering ‘allies’ to the cause, while, at the same time, trying to put down every would-be new Emperor, and keeping us all scattered so someone with a grudge couldn’t take us all out at once.”

“At least they didn’t sell you for a quick drunk.”

He snorts at that, a harsh, inelegant sound. “They sold me for a Republic that didn’t last twenty years. Does it matter if you fetch a high price? You were sold all the same.”

Rey can suddenly feel/see it. A small, lonely child. Too much power, too much time on his hands, and a huge, empty hole where people who were invested in his every-day life should have been.

She can put the pieces together. The old Jedi taught to avoid attachments. Attachments led to jealousy and anger. Jealousy and anger lead to the Dark Side. Luke would have been useless for Ben, he couldn’t offer the sort of attention and love he wanted, because that would be forming an attachment. Or… even if Luke didn’t hew too close to those rules, getting too close would be playing favorites among his pupils, and he’d try to avoid that.

Too much power, too much emptiness, and when Snoke found that hole, he leapt right into it.  

“How old were you when Snoke found you?”

Ben shrugs, he moves, sits down… His legs are stretched out in front of him, and his hands are easy in his lap. Maybe reclining back in bed? Maybe against a wall? She can see him, but not behind him. “I don’t remember a time there wasn’t a voice somewhere in the back of my head.” He looks chagrinned to say this, but relieved, too. She can feel this is a conversation he’s never had with anyone else. She supposes it makes sense, he’s telling the one voice in his head about the other. “He called me grandson. Told me I was born to fulfill his dream. Told me I would be great, powerful, a leader. Eventually, I learned Vader was my grandfather. Eventually, I knew what dreams I was born to fulfill.” He doesn’t say it, but she feels it, _Eventually, I knew the voice wasn’t Vader, but by that point, it was too late._

Rey feels it, the loneliness and the spark of hope at _someone_ being interested in him. Then what he said overcomes the feel of it. “Wait. Vader? Darth Vader?”

Now it’s Ben’s turn to look shocked. “Did you not know?” She’d read him, told him he was afraid he’s never be as powerful as Vader…

“Know… what?” Her mind is whirling, putting pieces of the puzzle together, fast. Ben didn’t just idolize a larger than life figure of the past, he was pining for a connection to _family,_ sold on the idea of a shared destiny.

As soon as that slots into place, his fascination with her quest for her parents fits, too.

“Before he was Darth Vader, he was Anakin Skywalker. Before she was Leia Solo, or Leia Organa, she was Leia Skywalker.”

She knew that Leia was Luke’s sister. She hadn’t known about Vader. That one comment Han made about there being too much Vader in Ben suddenly makes a _lot_ more sense. She thought he’d been speaking metaphorically. “But… Luke killed Vader.”

Ben shrugs. According to Luke, he didn’t kill Vader, but he woke up and saw the blood lust in Luke’s eyes. He felt Luke put lie to everything he stood for. If he killed Vader, or if he stood aside and let the Emperor do it… Either way, Vader died. “Apparently, patricide _and_ the Force runs strong in my family.”

Rey winces.

“All is as the Force wills it, no?”

“Leave me alone," she turns away from him.

“I didn’t come to you. You came to me this time. I was getting ready for bed, and suddenly you’re floating in front of me. Were you thinking of me?”

“No. I was thinking about balance," she says, looking over her shoulder at him.

“Of course.”

And with that, Rey’s alone in her chambers, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, according to Wookiepedia, Kylo didn't know Vader was his grandfather until he was in his late teens. Apparently, Leia's parentage was kept a closely held secret, so I'm going to assume it didn't get all the way to the backwater of Jakku.


	4. Kill The Past

It takes _hours._

And because of that, people keep trying to leave Jakku.

When the first ship lifts off, Kylo gives the order. “None of them leave. Fire at will.”

He’s on the bridge of what’s left of the Supremacy, watching tiny explosions all over the planet, and above it. Above are small ships, junkers, pirates, thieves, running for their lives. Below… There were two hundred battering ram cannons in his arsenal. Getting them into position so he could fire them from orbit took effort, and not an insignificant amount of ingenuity from his engineers. They are, after all, designed to be placed on the ground and fired at a shielded target.

But, they could be roped into service, welded to some of his medium sized fighters, triggered from the air, and they are doing the job.

Slowly.

One explosion at a time.

The planet comes apart, slowly, too. Gravity tries to hold it together, the speed it’s turning at tries to steal pieces away. The pressure inside causes molten rock to spew out, volcanos big enough to view from orbit. Eventually, it shakes apart, one chunk at a time, hurtling off into space.

Hux is standing next to him, hands clenched behind his back, eyes dark with lust. He’s enjoying this, licking his lips, breathing hard. Kylo can feel that as soon as he’s relieved from duty, he’ll find a woman.

Kylo can also feel that, given free rein, Hux would do this all the time. He’d be blowing up planets just to show that he could. And when it got old… When it no longer thrilled him… Kylo’s not sure what would come next, but he’s also not worried about it. He’ll kill Hux long before it’s an issue.

Kylo’s enjoying this, too. It’s not sexual for him. There’s no stiffening thrill to this. It’s hate. Rage. Hot, sticky red, pulsing through him. The flashes of that night… nights… he got off of Rey pour through him, and they feed his anger, and the pulses below, each and every shot, slowly chiseling a planet to pieces makes him want to shout in triumph.

He stands there until there’s nothing left but thousands of shards of rock, working their way into forming an asteroid field.

And when it’s done, he turns his back on what used to be Jakku, and wonders how long it will take for Rey to find out.

 

* * *

“It will be even bigger, grander than Starkiller base! It will be able to destroy an entire galaxy in one press of a button.”

Kylo’s so bored he wants to cry, and this moron, speaking with glee in his eyes, and a sexual lust for death, is not helping the situation. (Why _this_ is the engineer Hux sent to him is not a mystery to Kylo.)

“Could you, really?” Kylo asks, voice cold, using his command of the Force to make the man tell him the truth.

“Yes… My Lord… At least… We haven’t, can’t, test it, but the math suggests it would.”

Kylo pulls him close, lifting him with the Force, adding just enough pressure to make it hard to breathe, not so much as to choke the man.

“What would be the point of destroying an _entire galaxy?_ ”

He’s obviously never thought that through. Fear is pouring off of him, and he’s unable to speak, but not from anything Kylo’s doing to him.

“We’re sitting in the middle of it, and even if we weren’t, the gravitational effects of destroying an entire galaxy would ripple through the entire universe.”

The Engineer blinks at him, too terrified to speak.

“Do you work alone?”

“No… My Lord,” his fear is ripe, and he’s about to mess himself.

Kylo nods. With one fast action, he snaps the man’s neck and lets him drop to the floor. He spends a moment staring at the corpse on the floor, and then calls for Hux.

A few minutes later, Hux is before him, and a janitorial droid is removing the engineer.

“I take it he didn’t have the answer you wanted?” Hux asks, glancing over as the droid drags the body out.

“He didn’t have the answer anyone wanted. Bring me his partners. Tell them they’re being invited to present their findings to me. Have them bring all of their notes.”

“And then do what with them?” There’s a gleam in Hux’s eyes that Kylo doesn’t like. The Mad Cur… maybe he meant Hux, maybe Snoke had meant Kylo, either would have worked. But right now, the Cur in question is Hux, and he looks interested in biting the hand that feeds him. 

“I’ll take care of them from there. I’ll also need a fully supplied science ship, too.”

Hux is interested in that, too. And Kylo doesn’t mind if he thinks that he’s using the Engineer’s co-workers to build something he wasn’t willing to. He also doesn’t mind if Hux thinks that this is a team he can subvert to his own means. He’ll find barren soil there if he tries.

“You have a meeting with our bankers in an hour,” Hux adds.

“Of course I do.” He nods, and Hux leaves.

He should spend that hour reading the reports their bankers have sent. They’re, for the time being, willing to work with him. Apparently they aren’t sure if he’s better or worse for them than Snoke was. And, he’s more than aware enough to know that if he doesn’t make them feel safe, they’ll turn on him and find his mother in a matter of hours. After all, they all know her from back in the day. When she was on the rise, they were more than happy to offer her all the credit she needed. And when she fell, they happily gave it all to Snoke.

As long as the credits move, as long as they get to trade with whomever and whatever they like, they’ll back any player who looks like they can win.

And right now, that’s him.

And if it ever isn’t him, they’ll stab him in the back.

He snorts a dry laugh. The same way he stabbed Snoke.

And for a moment, he thinks that it would be a relief. Fail badly enough, and all of this will be over.

 

* * *

The next Engineer is less of a disappointment. Likely, though, because Kylo has more of his own plan of what to do next.

“We went over the plans of the original Death Star, and the Starkiller base, and we’ve drawn up a—“ The Engineer in front of him is calling up an image of a gargantuan, mega-planet-sized monstrosity designed to kill people by the billion.

“No,” Kylo says.

“But, My Lord, this...” This Engineer is intelligent enough to stop speaking before Kylo raises a hand against him.

“The original Death Star was destroyed by an idiot with an X wing. The second Death Star was destroyed by a half dozen idiots with a flying piece of trash that only stays aloft because the Force wills it to. Starkiller was destroyed by four morons and a few explosives. Putting enough power in one place to destroy a whole planet or system in one shot makes for an immensely unstable platform where the tiniest little thing can take the whole system down. We are _not_ doing this again.”

“But… My Lord, there’s no way to destroy a planet without a massive—“

“No. Smaller. I want something that can take a large city off a planet. Turn a hundred kilometers, square, to dust.”

The Engineer nods. “We can do that.”

“I want it small enough to fit on a fighter.” He’s seeing his battering ram cannons on fighters, knowing that’s the seed for what has to come next.

He’s thinking hard. “Doable, I think. Maybe a small bomber, but not bigger than that.”

“Good. I want thousands of them. I want them on every dreadnaught. I want them on my destroyers. I want them to be legion.”

The Engineer starts to get it as Kylo’s speaking. “Hundreds of them per destroyer… Maybe it only takes twenty or thirty of them to hit… But if they hit at the right spots...”

Kylo nods. “Boil the oceans, and a planet is dead. Shoot for the weak spots, and it will crack. We don’t need a weapon the size of a moon to kill a planet. We just need enough small ones to hit it _hard._ ”

Kylo looks at the floating green orb in front of him. He passes his hand through the hologram, and it vanishes.

“We built huge weapons and put massive targets on them. The Rebels and then Resistance could destroy them, because they could focus everything they had and attack _one_ thing. And we couldn’t fight them properly because they were so tiny and few. Now we go small. But we won’t be tiny and few. An X wing could take out a Death Star, but no X wing, no matter how well-piloted, how lucky, how blessed by the Force, can take out a thousand other fighters.”

The Engineer is grinning. “You don’t fight ants with a blaster. You fight them with more ants.”

“Exactly.” 

“I’ll have plans for you, soon, My Lord.”

“Excellent.”

 

 

* * *

Soon is three weeks away. Not as fast as he would have liked, but, realistically, faster than he should have hoped.

Kylo looks over the plans. Then he smiles. “These are good.”

His Engineer just about does a cartwheel he’s so happy to hear that. “All we need now is a place to build them.”

“I’ll arrange for that. You may leave.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

Hux watches the engineer leave. He rereads the plans. “The cost projections are high.”

Kylo shrugs.

“The Xixnia system has the raw materials we’d need. They’re peasant miners, non-human, barely scratching a living out of the planets. We could dominate them in seconds, and strip everything of value in weeks. That would drop your cost projections.”

Kylo almost agrees to it without thinking. That’s just how the First Order does business. Find a system, take what they need, destroy whatever they don’t so someone else can’t take it later. But he doesn’t. Something stops him, for a heartbeat, and instead of an absent nod: “Split the difference. Bring in overseers, hire the locals, pay them well-enough. Less expensive than a core world, not as cheap as slave labor,” comes out of his mouth.

Hux is perplexed by this. “Why bother? We can take more easily than we can pay.”

Kylo’s perplexed by that, too, but a reason comes to him easily enough. And once he’s said it, he knows it’s true. “Rebellions are born in slave camps, Armitage. Loyal subjects are made of well-treated, well-paid men.”

“They aren’t men. They’re barely dogs.”

“Then buying their loyalty will come cheap. Pet a dog’s head, offer him a bone, he loves you forever, and he savages those who seek to harm you. Beat him, and eventually, he bites your hand.”

Hux and Kylo share a long look, both of them thinking of Snoke.

Hux nods his head. “It will happen.”

“Good.”


	5. Why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got some NSFW images in this chapter. : )

“What is it?” Rey asks of the thing Poe’s holding out to her. He’s been trying to find new recruits for the Resistance, and is back, for a few days, at least, until they can get him to his next assignment. And apparently, he’s brought her a present.

“I don’t know,” Poe says. “I found it back in Xixnia III. A few kids were using them as tokens in a game. I thought you might…” Poe’s looking at the disk in his hand, to her, and back to the disk. “I don’t know. It’s not… the Force, right?”

As best Rey knows, the Force doesn’t inhabit _things_. Places, sure, and people seem to vary as to how sensitive they are to it, but she doesn’t think it can be bound to a _thing._

“I don’t think that’s how the Force works,” Rey says, taking the disk into her hand. It’s not a Jedi symbol, at least, not one she recognizes. She lets herself really feel it. No, not The Force… But… “But there’s something to it, you’re right about that. It feels… Right.”

“Yeah.”

Rey looks at the disk. It’s a coin or token, maybe. One half is black, the other white, and the two of them swirl into each other, forming a gray circle in the middle. It’s not the Force Tree in Luke’s cave. Not a living thing wrought in light and dark, but it has a similar feel. She slips it into one of the inner pockets of her tunic, keeping it close to her skin. “Thanks, so… How did it go?”

Poe looks disheartened. “It went. For all we loathe the First Order, they’re doing a fairly good job there. I couldn’t find anyone who wanted to rebel.”

“No one?” Rey can’t believe that. “Were they just too scared?”

“Too fat and happy.” His voice is dripping with scorn. “The First Order is using their planet as a ship-building base. Everyone’s got a job. Everyone’s got money. People from all over the galaxy are coming in to work.”

“There’s got to be someone…”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s _someone._ But a month working as a builder and frequenting bars, acting like the universe needs to bow down and kiss my arse because I’m a human with the First Order, _trying_ to get the locals to beat me up so we can find out who doesn’t love the First Order turned up _no one._ ”

Rey winces. “Blow up the building center?”

He sighs, a faraway look on his face. “It’d be _so_ easy. There’s practically no security. Give me a crew of four men, and I could blow it out of the sky. I suggested it to Leia, but she says no. Back in the old days, when she was doing this against the Empire, they found out real fast that blowing up places where a lot of civilians work makes enemies, fast. We take out that ship yard, and not only do we personally kill tens of thousands of locals, but when the First Order sees what happened, they take hostages and execute them until someone talks about who did it. Then they execute anyone who ever had anything to do with the bombers. By the time that’s done, they hate the First Order all right, but they hate us, too.”

Rey slumps down. They’ve had no problem finding rebels, a few at a time, in out of the way places. Mostly people who had kin murdered by Starkiller base. Figuring out what to do with them, or finding ones who could actually make a difference… That’s been a different story.

It’s been two months, and they’ve gone from the 36 of them who survived Crait, to almost 300, which is great, except they can’t find anything to _do_ with their 300. Too many to just sit on their hands, but not enough, at least, not without ships or weapons, to strike any sort of real blow.

“Leia’s saying our best shot on this one is to disrupt their supply lines. The steel is coming from the planet. We don’t want to mess with that, because if we do, they start killing the people who make the steel. The rest of the components are coming from off-world. She’s got Rose working on infiltrating the company that makes the transistors for the onboard computers. If Rose can get in there and mess with their tolerance specifications, then the ships won’t fly the way they’re supposed to.” Poe sounds pretty depressed at that.

Rey would have to admit that’s not her idea of how to fight a war, either, but… “It’s better than nothing.”

“I know. But I’m better at blowing stuff up with an X wing. There’s no room for a guy like me in a rebellion based on sabotage.”

“We’ve still got to train new pilots. That’s a job for you.”

“Once we find some.” He sighs, even louder this time. “And some ships.”

“Is that the next job?”

He sighs again, nodding. “Probably. My next job is Canto Bight. Time to find some arms dealers. We can’t fight without weapons, and since, apparently, it’s my fault we don’t have any, it’s my job to talk some rich idiots into selling us some.” He sighs once more. “Without getting caught.” And one more dramatic sigh. “On credit.”

Rey winces. She knows how bare their coffers are. Leia spends all day, every day, calling in every favor, every credit she can, sending them out to scavenge whatever’s left of the Rebellion, selling it for junk, just to keep them in the air, and moving from system to system, hunting down new people.

 

 

* * *

“Rey.”

Leia’s voice is soft, and sad, and Rey feels the hair on her body leap up, fear prickling her skin, at the sound of it.

“What?”

Leia sits next to her, gently taking her hand. “You’re from Jakku, right?”

Rey nods, knowing that whatever it is that comes next, it’s bad.

“We’ve just received word that it’s gone.”

Rey blinks. That’s _not_ what she was expecting. She… in her heart of hearts, she was afraid that Leia would bring her bad news of Ben, who hasn’t appeared to her recently. She shifts out of that, because Leia may not be a Jedi, but she’s awfully good at feeling what’s going on around her, and Rey doesn’t want to share those feelings.

“Gone… how?”

“That’s the question. There are asteroids left. So… blown up, hit by a comet… Something happened to it. But whatever it was, no one is telling.”

“Blown up? Starkiller is gone, and the First Order doesn’t have anything big enough to blow up a planet, not anymore. And…” And she doesn’t have to say that there’s no _reason_ to blow up Jakku. No one, not any sane ruler, anywhere would profit by blowing it up.

Leia nods. “That’s what our spies say.” She’s looking thoughtful, and Rey can tell she’s wondering if their spies have been turned. “Did you have friends or family there?”

Rey shakes her head. “No. Only corpses and bad memories. I had one good day on Jakku, the day I left.”

“Oh.”

Rey realizes Leia is here because if anyone understands what it’s like to lose a planet, it’s her. And then a deeper level hits Rey; she was hoping to have someone to sympathize with, too. Rey scoots over a bit, making room for Leia to sit next to her, and then holds out an arm.

They don’t have to speak. Leia understand the offer of comfort, and accepts it.

It feels odd to Rey, to have another person touching her, holding her close. She supposes this is part of growing up in a world with parents, family, and friends. People touch you when they hurt, or when you hurt.

But Jakku wasn’t the sort of place where touch brought comfort.

After a moment, Leia sits up, pulling away. “You’ve been at loose ends, lately.”

Rey nods.

“We don’t need to use the Falcon as a base, not any more. I know you want to find a new path. A way to be a Jedi. How about you and Chewie go? Maybe you can’t find the answers out there, but there have to be some questions to get you pointed on the right path.”

Rey nods at that. “I’d like that.”

“I can give you a list of people who are friendly to us. Maybe not enough to save us when we’re dying… But they’d likely give you a place to say while you learn.”

“Willing to help when the cost is minimal.”

Leia offers her a painfully dry smile. “Rebellions are built on ‘pragmatic’ people willing to flip to your side and offer you aid, if it will work out well for them in the long run, and doesn’t cost them much in the short term.”

“That doesn’t sound like a recruiting slogan.”

There bitterness in Leia’s eyes, but softness, too. “It’s not, but it’s real.”  

 

 

* * *

Packing doesn’t take long. It’s been almost nine weeks since she left Jakku, but she still doesn’t have much stuff. Memories. Many of them, much better than what she had before, but physical stuff... Her clothing, she’s up to four outfits now, wealth beyond measure by Jakku standards, sparse by the standards most of her compatriots grew up with, her staff, her lightsaber. Everything she owns fits into one pack she can carry on her staff.

She records a note for Finn, letting him know where she’s going. Or, at least why. She’d been hoping to see him again, but… But he’s off being useful for the Resistance. He’s working with a few of their psychologists, trying to figure out how he broke his First Order training, so they can work on breaking other recruits. And neither she, nor anyone else, knows where he is. Even Leia doesn’t know. What they don’t know, they can’t betray.

Given how useful he’s been, if they could get more, even a handful, they could cause so much trouble. Just a few per ship could be the difference between winning and losing their next battle, and the one after that, until they’re actually a force to be reckoned with, again.

Until.

They can’t win, not right now. There aren’t enough people, and no structure in place to take over if the First Order falls. And if Leia learned anything from the Rebellion, it’s that if they cut the head off the First Order, she needs a system in place to replace it, _fast,_ and just as important, the firepower to protect it _._ And with the Hosnian system gone, and their fleet down to the Falcon, one ancient CR90, and the three decrepit X wings she’s been able to pry out of a few ‘allies,’ she’s got nothing. So, while they rebuild the Resistance, she’s working on rebuilding a web of allies to step in once the First Order is gone. Without that, there’s no point in fighting. Everything will devolve into chaos, and fifteen years later, a new Supreme Leader will arise.

Right now, they can be the thorn in the First Order’s side. They can save lives. And right now, Finn’s crucial to that.

She looks at her bag, her staff, and her broken lightsaber. Her fingers brush the handle of the saber, maybe, some day, she’ll be crucial, too.

 

 

* * *

The Millennium Falcon feels more like home than anywhere she’s ever lived.

 _Where to?_ Chewie asks.

“Not sure. The first of the names on the list is Calrissian. Is that a place or person or…”

Chewie’s response makes Rey blush.

“I take it you didn’t part on good terms.”

More emphatic Wookie cursing.

“But his father was your friend?”

A series of long, mournful sounds translate into: _There was never a group of friends so cursed by their children._

“Should we even go to him?”

Chewie thinks about it. _You want to read, study?_

“That’s the idea.”

_Little twit’s a pile of banthashit, but he’ll have books. He’ll have old ones and new ones. He’ll have the ones that the Empire banned. Histories from before Palpatine took over. Stories about how it happened._

“Stories about the Jedi?”

 _Sure. All he ever wanted to do was read and paint pretty pictures. People were fucking dying, and he wanted to be ‘an artist.’_ Chewie winces. _He ‘didn’t want to take sides.’_

Rey winces at that, too. “Why not?”

_“Beauty exists for itself. It doesn’t take sides.” Lando cut him off when he said that. They never spoke again._

“Oh.”

_It’ll take a few days to get there. We’ve got to skirt the Hrathnor system. They’re not exactly friendly, but it should be an uneventful run._

“Then let’s go.”

 

* * *

Space is empty, and there’s just not much to do. Rey’s read every book on the Falcon. She’s played dejarik with Chewie until her eyes want to bleed. She’s practiced with her staff as much as she can, but the Falcon’s a little cramped for too much of that. She’s even taken to playing with the Porgs.

One of them, an especially friendly little fellow, she’s taken to calling Waldo. She’s even taught him a trick. Or maybe he’s taught her to give him treats by hopping from foot to foot and trilling.

So she settles herself into her chamber, and decides to try to call Ben. It’s about the time the two of them usually find themselves in each other’s company. And right now… Anything other than losing her 90th game of dejarik would be welcome.

She clears her mind, focusing on the feel of him. Her image of him goes from vague to sharp. Memory to real, and as it becomes real, as she sees pale white skin spattered with thousands of drops of water, she makes a little, “Eep!” sound, and closes her eyes.

 

 

A moment later, she hears him say, “What?” Then an exasperated sigh. “You can open your eyes.”

He’s wet, hair plastered to his head, water trickling over his skin, and he’s got a towel wrapped around his waist.

“I… didn’t realize you’d be busy.”

He glares at her. And she can feel he'd been enjoying his five minutes today of _not_ being busy. “This is what _not_ busy looks like for me.”

 

 

“I’m sorry.”

“What did you want?” His voice is sharp.

“Uh…” She’s looking at him, eyes trailing over his skin, and for once, possibly because he’s soaking wet, hair plastered to his head, and looking utterly upside down, she’s not bothered by it. “Sorry… I… What do you get out of being The Supreme Leader?”

He’s staring at her like this is the stupidest question he’s ever heard of.

“I mean… do you like it?”

He blinks, and then slowly rubs his eyes before looking at her in stupefaction. “Do I… like it? It’s not a flavor of beverage, Rey. It isn’t a _like_ sort of thing.”

“Okay… But… Why?”

“If you’d have taken me up on my offer, you’d get to know, firsthand.”

She can feel it, in the way he’s looking at her, and the flow of the Force around him, that if she so much as leans a finger toward him, he’ll snap her up and lay the First Order at her feet. But she doesn’t want to know what _she_ would get out of it, she wants to know what _he_ gets out of it. She keeps staring at him, disturbingly earnest.

“Complete, ultimate, power.”

That breaks earnest. “Yeah. I get that’s part of the job title, but… What do you get out of that? You say jump and everyone leaps? Is that it?”

“Part of it.”

She gets the sense that he hasn’t thought much about what _he_ gets out of this. She sees him reach, and then he’s got another towel. A moment after that, he’s drying his hair. “Is there more? Do you just want to be worshiped as a GodKing or… Is there a better world… galaxy you want to build?”

He stops rubbing the towel over his hair. She can feel how hard that question hits him. Worshiped? Yes. Loved… He wants that, craves it like a drug. Valuable. Important. Needed. A better world… Some. He doesn’t want slave colonies and terrified prisoners working to death to fill his coffers. Riches bore him. He’s always had anything and everything he’s wanted, as long as it was something that could be bought.

Throngs of people chanting his name, adoration on their lips and in their timbre, worshiping him… That’s what he wants.

And if they won’t love him, fear is almost as good.  

“They’d love you if you brought the Republic back.”

He laughs, long and loud and bitter at that. “If they loved the Republic, we’d still have one. You cannot tear down, by force, something that thousands of systems and quadrillions of people want. Not even Starkiller was powerful enough to do that. We win because we give them what they want. They want to be ruled.” He laughs again. “Everything is as the Force wills it. They want to rebel, too. It’s more exciting for us to be locked in an eternal struggle—“

Ben blinks out of her view before he finishes the sentence.

“Ben?” But she can’t see or feel him, even though she reaches out for him.  


	6. Non-Attachment

Kylo looks around his bathroom, but he’s alone again. He shakes his head, and finishes drying off. He pulls on his pajama pants, but doesn’t bother with a shirt, he’s almost certain she won’t be back tonight.

He settles himself in his bed to begin his nightly meditations.

“There is only passion…”

Kill the past. Kill the Jedi. Kill the Sith. Destroy it all and start fresh.

But keep what they got right. Build from the ashes. Build with that which didn’t burn.

Passion leads to strength, which gives power, which…

Kylo grits his teeth. Rey just poked the festering hole of _nothing_ that's been niggling at the back of his mind for weeks. Power is supposed to _do something._ Having it for its own sake is boring.

“Supreme Leader…” _What do you like about it?_ “Nothing.”

He lays back on his bed. “Nothing.” He wants to leap up, rage, and break things, but… But that’s the past. Passion gives strength, and he’s felt that, used it, destroyed plasteel with his fist because he had enough rage to fuel the hit.

But all that left him with was a pile of broken metal and a sore fist.

_From passion there is strength. From strength there is power. From power…_

 

 

* * *

 _Is there a better world…_ He’s sitting at the head of a conference table, with a collection of Generals, each of them giving him a report about their different blocks of the galaxy. It’s _painfully_ boring.

He watches them, focusing on them and not what they’re saying.

Half of them hate him because they want to be him. They want his place, want his power, want to be able to kill on a whim with a gesture. They want people to know that they only breathe because they allow it.

A quarter of them are afraid. They’re lying to him about something. Probably setting up rebellions of their own. His mother and her Resistance need to start taking lessons. At the most, they’ll be a nuisance. Any of the six conspirators in front of him could do more to hurt him in a day than she could in a hundred years.

He spends a moment looking more closely. Hux is working with three of them, and the other three are on their own. He supposes he’s got another month before Hux is more trouble than he’s worth. Kylo mentally sighs at that. Hux is a good administrator, and competent administrators are worth their weight in platinum. He’ll be difficult to replace.

The final quarter, they’re happy to be here. True believers. They’re off to reshape the galaxy in his image. They look at him and see Rey’s GodKing.

He wonders if Vader felt that way about Palpatine.

Then he scoffs as another idea dances through his mind. Here, at the head of the table, surrounded by his _loyal_ generals, he’s the perfect epitome of Jedi non-attachment. He could step out of this room, seal the airlock behind him, blow all of the ports, and would never give a second thought to any of the corpses in the room within.

When the meeting ends, he sends the twelve haters and the six sycophants off. He asks one of them to bring Hux to them.

As soon as Hux steps in, he knows what’s about to happen. He’s reaching for his blaster before a single word passes anyone’s lips.

Snoke always had guards, but Kylo never saw a need for that. He killed Snoke before his guards even got the chance to blink, and he’s fairly sure that even without Rey, he would have killed the guards. It probably would have hurt more, he may have lost an arm or a leg, possibly both, but he’d have won that fight.

So he has no guards. They aren’t worth the bother. And, from what he can see, being alone with people who come to petition him unnerves them. The man who is secure enough in his power to face any comer, alone, is a man they don’t want to trifle with.

But if one of them does… If someone shows up able to do him, then that’s just how it ends.

But not today.

He leaves Hux for last, pulling him up close, looking into his eyes. There’s no surprise. Only hate and anger.

He snuffs the fire out of Hux, and stands there, not even breathing hard, knowing that one day, someone will snuff the fire out of him, as well. He wonders if it will be Rey, and if he’ll stare at her like Hux was staring at him.

Then he laughs, loud and hard. There are six dead generals crumpled around the room, and his “trusted” second-in-command just breathed his last. In ten minutes he’s done more ‘damage’ to himself than the Resistance managed to in the last year.

He can’t feel Rey, and knows she’s not here, but he says it anyway, “Does this mean I’m working for you now?”

 

 

* * *

He seeks her out. She’s… he can’t really tell. Whatever game the Force is playing, it will let him see her, but not what or who is around her. She’s… laughing, probably eating. How stupid is it he can see her lift something to her lips, take a bite, and chew, but not what the something is?

He waits, sitting back in his bed, watching without interrupting.

Her hair is down, all of it hanging loose around her face. He’s never seen her with her hair completely down before. It’s… shocking almost. He knows her hair can’t permanently be back, but there’s an almost indecent intimacy to seeing her in a loose shirt and trousers, if she wears pajamas, that’s probably them, feet bare, hair down around her shoulders, as she looks, happily, at someone/thing, and giggles.

Rey giggles. He didn’t think it was possible, but she does.

There’s… something… He can’t see it. Something in her lap, maybe. She’s sitting cross-legged, and it looks like she’s stroking something in her lap. She’s certainly looking down at… it… him?

A man? For a second there’s a palpable rush of flaming red hate of the idea. The dark one? FN… whatever. Could he be lying there, looking up at her, smiling, telling jokes, while she gently strokes his hair? The pilot… He’d be happy there, with an easy smile and some quick witty thing to say.

He feels jealousy spike up, fast, hard, flushing through him, burning his skin and flaring along his nerves, and suddenly she jerks away from whatever is in her lap, and glares at him.

“Are you spying on me?”

“I…” He’s feeling hot, angry, sick with embarrassment for getting caught. “No! I was…” He tries to break their connection, but he’s too wired to her right now, and he can’t pull back.

She’s scrambling around, shoving whatever was on her lap away, and looking for a hair tie.

“Don’t.”

She stops. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t… whatever. You don’t have to… change,” he finishes lamely. He knows he’s blushing, and wishes he had his helmet.

“Why are you here,” she’s sounding annoyed, but she doesn’t pull her hair up, or put a robe or jacket on. He also notices that she’s not talking to anyone else. If there had been another person in the room, she’d explain why she’s suddenly talking to a ghost, right?

“Who’s your companion?”

She blinks. “You want to know my friends?”

“You were… petting… something. It looked… calming.”

The eye roll she aims at him makes him blush again. She knows, exactly, what he’s thinking and feeling. He feels laid open, more naked than he’s ever been, in her, or anyone else’s presence, and it’s deeply unsettling, and at the same time, he wishes he could live here, in this moment of vulnerability.

“It’s called a Porg, Ben. Look it up when you get a minute. They make great pets. They’re soft and coo or trill when you pet them. It’s nice.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe one day you should try a pet.”

He shrugs at that, unable to imagine the idea of him, all in black, terrifying grown men with just a look, while snuggling some sort of soft, cooing thing.

“Did you want something?” Rey asks.

“Why are you rebelling? What do you get out of it?”

He can see she’s about to shoot the same _this is the stupidest question I’ve ever heard_ look back at him, but she doesn’t. She’s thinking.

“You grew up on Jakku. The First Order never bothered it until the Resistance showed up. The only reason why anyone there ever came to any harm was because the Resistance thought it would be a good place to hide traitors. And they hid traitors there because the First Order was leaving it alone. The Empire never got out there until after the Rebellion killed Palpatine, and one of his Admirals thought it would be a wonderful spot for a last stand. The various rebellions have never done anything good for you, so… Why rebel? What do you get out of it?”

“You blew up the Hosnian system, and you’ve got to ask? Billions of lives snuffed out like a candle.”

Kylo blinks. He watched it happen, but… They weren’t alive, not to him. No more so than any of the First Order soldiers on Starkiller base. Or the corpses being tidied up in his conference room.

“Did you feel them? When those lives ended, was it real to you?”

She knows he’s got to be asking more than ‘did it actually happen?’ She opens her feeling a little more, pulling his in, making herself understand the question. “No. Not the way you mean it. I… No.”

“I felt my father.”

She nods. “So did I.”

And for a moment both of them reflect on the fact that that one death meant more than the literal billions of people who died when Starkiller base fired.

“Luke said Obi Wan felt Alderaan when it blew up. A million voices screaming out all at once, and then silent. He felt it through the Force. I don’t think my mother did. Luke didn’t. Did Luke tell you the Force is what binds us together, that it moves with and through all life? Did he tell you that everything that is alive is part of the Force?”

“No. Not really. He talked about balance and tension, about it being through and between.”

Kylo nods. “I didn’t feel them. None of them. And the ones I did feel… Two abandoned me. One tried to kill me. One spent years building me up and cutting me down. One is you. The rest… might as well be puppets for all I feel of them.”

“But you feel me?”

“I feel you. I felt you before I saw you. I felt the idea of you from miles away.”

“Get a pet, Ben. Try to feel something.”

And then he’s alone.

 

 

* * *

“General Hux is dead!” Leia announces two days later. The broadcast is grainy and low quality, but they can make out the words just fine. “One of our spies confirms it. Hux and almost a quarter of the upper command all died recently.”

“Died?” Poe asks. Rey knows it’s him by the voice, though his face doesn’t appear in the broadcast.

“Died. There’s been no formal announcement, other than their second-in-command’s being moved up.”

“Our spies can’t tell us more?”

Leia shakes her head. “We’ve got no one on the Supremacy, and all of them were stationed there.”

“Do we have anything on any of the new ones?” Poe asks, excited.

Leia smiles. “One of them. The newly minted General Abevior’s wife had family on Hosnian Prime.”

“Can we use it?” Poe’s sounding very eager.

“I hope so. He’ll be moving aboard the Supremacy, and she’ll be setting up household somewhere more fitting to their new status. She’ll need new servants. We’ll make sure some of the right people get hired. We’ve turned a few wives in the past, at the very least, they make good spies,” Leia says.

Rey listens, and wonders how long after Ben killed them, he called to her.


	7. Research

Orlac Calrissian sets Rey’s teeth on edge. It’s a deep, visceral reaction of disgust and distrust. It’s probably not helped by the fact that Chewie is growling, low and subvocal, as Orlac opens his arms wide and says, “Uncle Chewie!”

He pulls back as he feels the growl.

“Still angry I wouldn’t join your spat?” He’s got a soft, bored drawl, and Rey wonders what world Orlac grew up on. His accent isn’t one she’s heard before.

That growl goes from subvocal to roof-shaking loud.

“And yet, you’ve come to me with a pretty lady, I see.” He turns to Rey, eyes sparkling, charm oozing from every pore. “Hello, pretty lady,” his smile is wide and easy, and he reaches his hand for her, but she steps back. He rolls his eyes and snorts. “Not one for the niceties, I see. All business, then?”

Chewbacca grunts a yes.

“Fine, what business?”

“We’ve been told you have a library,” Rey says.

Orlac looks stunned. “Books? You want my books?”

Rey nods.

“Either the Resistance or the First Order is in significantly worse shape than I’d imagined.” Rey almost speaks and he waves it away. “I don’t need to know which. We’re beyond politics here. Intentionally.” He looks her up and down. “You barely eat as much as a fly, and have simple tastes, I’d bet.” Then he glances to Chewie. “You, not so much. She can stay, a day, a month, a season. It makes no matter. You,” his eyes land on Chewie’s again. “Can’t. Decide when you’re coming back for her. I’ll see a cottage is set aside. If you wish to attend classes, you can, or you may just enjoy the run of the library.”

Chewie pulls her aside. _Don’t stay._

“I feel like I should.”

_He’s not trustworthy._

“I survived Jakku.” She glances to Orlac. He’s a puffed up dandy, nothing more. She looks around at graceful buildings, rolling green lawns, bubbling fountains, small scurrying animals, and short, stubby trees. She could hide and live off the land here for years if need be. “There’s nothing to fear.”

Chewie thinks about that, and nods. _Keep the staff on you at all times._

She smiles. “I always do.”

_A week?_

“I’ll let you know. I don’t know what I’m trying to find, or what I’ll have to read to get to it.”

_I’m back here in a week. You tell me you need more time, I’ll come back again. But I’m not leaving you here alone longer than that._

She smiles up at Chewie, and gives him a hug.

He holds her close and pets her hair. _Take the damn Porg with you._

She laughs. “I don’t think he wants to go. Waldo likes you.”

 

 

* * *

Orlac leads her away from the Falcon, showing her his “university.” From what she can see, it’s five or so large buildings set around a wide, grassy garden. There are students on the lawn, reading, sketching, sculpting, and painting.

“There’s only one hard and fast rule here, no politics.”

“How does that work?”

He doesn’t understand her question. “It’s quite simple, no matter who you back, or why, you shut up about it while you’re here. If you’re here, it’s because you want to learn or practice, and none of that requires mouthing off about the injustices of the First Order, or the failings of the Resistance, or the inequities of the Republic.”

She rolls her eyes a little. Silence is easy. “I mean… How come the First Order hasn’t shut you down?”

Orlac flashes her a pretty smile. “Simple. I’ve got the children, cousins, and friends of several of their important members. The late and unlamented General Hux, his younger half-sister is here. As long as I keep this neutral territory, they don’t bug me. So, when little Baby First Order Youngling goes home, I make sure she’s got nothing to report about subversive conversations at school.”

“Oh.”

“We are dedicated to two things here, art and knowledge, and we let nothing stand in the way of that. So, as long as you are here, you’re just a student doing historical research on…” he’s watching her.

“The rise of Palpatine and the Fall of the Republic,” she’s guessing that’ll be where she at least starts looking for information about who the Jedi were and what they did.

“Good enough.” He turns and points behind himself. “That one is the library.” In front. “That’s our dining hall.”

He takes her past the lawn, between two of the larger buildings, to another lawn, this one surrounded by cottages. “They’re small, but they’ll do.” They walk across this new lawn to one of the buildings. “Hand goes here.” He presses his hand to a plate and says, “New student.” Then he takes his away, and she places hers. The screen flashes green and he says, “Okay, all set. This will only open to your hand now.”

She presses her hand to the plate, and the door opens.

“Like I said, they’re small and simple…”

Rey’s looking around in amazement. This is not _small_ or _simple._ It’s one room, but it’s one room with a bed. A real bed. Not a berth. Not a collection of fabric scraps knotted into a hammock, but a real, with a mattress and sheets and pillows and blankets _bed._ On the far side of the room, there’s a cooker, and table, and cold storage and… It’s the most luxurious place she’s ever called her own.

He motions to the doors on the far side of the room. “The door on the right is your bathroom, the door on the left is a closet.”

Rey blinks. She’s not entirely sure what a bathroom is. She knows the meaning of each word, but… She crosses the room and opens the door and… It’s exactly what she thought it would be. A room, with a bathtub, one big enough for her to lay down in, and a sink, and refresher, and…

Her mouth’s fallen open and she’s staring at this in wonder.

Orlac smirks at that. “You were on the Falcon a long time, weren’t you? I kept telling Han to put a real bathroom in there. Not like he didn’t have the room for it. But no… Had to keep all of those smuggling chambers ready. The old man was the second or third most recognized man in the Republic, but he wanted to keep smuggling…” Orlac sighs.

“This is all for me?”

“Unless you chose to share it with someone. Just make sure it’s tidy before you go, ready for whomever comes next, and you may use it how you like.”

Rey blinks and turns to Orlac, feeling a lot less repulsed by him. “Thank you.”

He waves that away. “No problems.”

 

* * *

Unpacking takes an entire minute and a half. Exploring, playing with the fixtures, flopping on the bed, figuring out what some of the stuff does (There’s a box in the closet, that, apparently, if you put clothing in it and press a button, an hour later it comes out clean. Rey’s never even imagined anything like this and can’t wait to try it out.) takes longer.

But eventually, she feels like she’s got the lay of her cottage down, and goes out to explore the library.

It isn’t difficult to find. The big sign on it that says Library is a less than subtle hint that she’s heading in the right direction, and opening the sliding glass doors, stepping in, and being surrounded by more books than she ever imagined could have possibly existed hammers home the idea that she’s in the right place.

As she’s standing next to a table, where two other students are reading, looking at all of the books, the reality of what she’s trying to do sinks in.

All the knowledge in the world (or so it feels) is here, but she doesn’t know what she’s looking for. Not really.

But, not knowing what she’s doing has never stopped her before, and it’s not about to, now.

She strides forward, finds the librarian, and explains that she’s looking for books about the rise of Palpatine, preferably anything about what the Jedi were doing while it happened.

The Librarian nods, smiles, and then points her to a shelf. It’s got at least two hundred books on it. Rey stares at it with wide eyes and nods, slowly.

She grabs the first one, (Rise of Darkness Fall of Light) and sits down, fairly sure she’s going to be here for a _long_ time.

 

 

* * *

Ben’s not wearing a shirt, again. It’s been a while since that’s been true. They tend to link together at the same time each day, and though he may be in his robe and pajamas, he’s generally dressed when she sees him.

Granted, this isn’t exactly when she usually finds him. She’d been reading. Something. Whatever it was has grown dim in her mind, even though it’s been… Minutes? An hour? Since her eyes slid shut and she slipped into a half-dreaming doze.

He’s not aware of her, not yet. She can’t see what he’s doing… His meditations maybe. He’s sitting quietly, with his eyes closed.

Her eyes trace over his chest and shoulders.

They linger across his face.

She knows this isn’t a dream, but like with a dream, she feels like this is a space without consequence. And as such it makes her feel bold. She speaks, breaking into his meditations. “I’ve marked you.”

His eyes open and he looks her up and down. He touches his face, still looking at her, studying her. “Yes.”

She’s in her own getting ready for bed clothes. (Though she’s fairly sure her body is napping at a table in the library, wearing her usual out and about outfit.) It’s not all that much different than her day wear. On Jakku, everyone wore the same thing all the time. Wore it until it fell apart, and then used it for something else. Now… She’s starting to appreciate the idea of something soft, and loose, and comfortable for when she sleeps.

He’s cataloging every inch of her cream colored night shirt. It’s new. Her hair is down. She remembered the way he looked at that, the last time it was down.

When his eyes stop traveling over her, he asks, “Did you like it?”

“Pardon?” She’s not sure where he’s going with that.

“Marking me.” He touches his face and shoulder. “You’re always here. Every time I see myself, you’re on me.”

She doesn’t have an answer for that. Honestly, she doesn’t remember the fight all that much. She knows it happened, and she has images of it, but… She was so angry and scared and desperate, so very desperate, to live, to save Finn, to hurt Ben, hurt him _bad._ Hurt him the way he hurt her when he destroyed Han.

She focuses back on it, the feel of the saber between her hands, the almost liquid swish of it slicing through flesh.

“Yes. I did.”

He nods, face impassive, eyes hot, and on hers. “Do you think, perhaps, I will mark you?”

She can feel her skin. She has a few small scars, mostly scuffles and missteps as a child, one on her shoulder from when they fought back to back in Snoke’s throne room (though at the rate that one's healing she's thinking it won't scar). None by Ben’s hand. But she doesn’t think that’s important, or, for that matter, that that’s what he meant.

“I think you already have.”

“Good.” He shifts, reaches, probably getting a shirt.

“You don’t have to.”

He settles back, eyes closing again, slipping back into his meditations.

He’s very open right now, Force flowing through him, and she can go along for the ride, feeling his anger and hurt, the way he’s stoking them, feeding each insult and slight, but also trying to keep them at arm’s length.

He’s trying to structure them into a bank of power he can pull off of.

She smirks a little. Emotional batteries.

She catches the memory he’s shaping right now. “Were you the rabid cur, or Hux?”

He doesn’t open his eyes. “It may have been Hux, and it won’t be me. Not again.”

“Why?”

“I’m the end of the line, now. A smart ruler keeps a rabid cur or two to set on his enemies. To keep them off balance and afraid. But the ruler can’t be the cur. Not if he intends to live a long life.”

“Be a smart enough ruler, and maybe you won’t have any enemies.”

“There’s never been a ruler anywhere that smart.”

She watches him, sitting back, eyes closed. He’s cross-legged, wearing a pair of loose black pajama pants. His feet are bare, and she’s never contemplated the idea of his feet before, but able to see them, she’s looking.

Long, narrow. Big for his legs. Like his nose, from some angles they’re elegant, and from other’s they’re oddly shaped and the wrong proportions for his body.

His hands are loose on his knees. No fists, no tension.

All the heat, all of the anger, it’s in his head. Right now his body is calm.

“You could let it go.”

He doesn’t open his eyes. “I wouldn’t be me if I did.”

And with that, she’s back in the library, alone.


	8. What Does One Do With Power?

The representative of the Raclan Bank does not visit Kylo in person. They do not send an envoy. They don’t allow him to see them via hologram.

Sitting in his office, at his desk, he is met only by the sound of a voice.

Kylo sighs. Apparently, in dealing with his predecessor, they have grown both wise and wary. He assumes that if he were to work on it, he could find the voice speaking to him, and choke the life out of it.

Just the idea of it wearies him.

On the upside, they did not send a person, which means he can take this in his office, instead of having to loom larger than life in his all black throne room. Here he can be Kylo more than _The Supreme Leader_.

The voice on the other side of the comm is soothing. A mixture of well-off, posh, and pampered accents. All of them tell him he’s talking to someone with money, none of them tell him where this person is from. “As you know, My Lord, we’ve offered you the most flexible repayment terms we can. But, all debts come due, eventually. We need at least a token, something to make it worth our while to keep extending you credit.”

Kylo tries to focus in on the voice, tries to find it, see if there’s any fear or malice or… anything.

But there’s nothing out there.

It clicks in his mind. He’s talking to a droid. It’s possible at this point there are no bankers, not any longer. Not to deal with him. There are just programs. A droid can’t be killed, not if its program is spread across thousands of bodies. It can’t be intimidated, not if it wasn’t programmed for it. The Force cannot be used against it to change its mind.

A wise move on the part of whomever ordered it.

“As per the terms your predecessor arranged, we can take payment in credits or raw materials at market value per kiloton. Or, if need be, we have several systems we’ve acquired recently, and if you were to provide the enforcement of labor conditions, we could work with that, as well.”

He’s low on credits, and using all the ones he has to patch up the Supremacy and build his new planet killers. He’s got raw materials, but they too are being used to patch up the Supremacy and build his new planet killers. Labor though…

“I’m sure you could. Give me the list of planets. We’ll ‘manage’ your labor for you.”

“Wonderful! We’re sending along the coordinates.”

Kylo kills the communication. He looks to his newest “Trusted” Second-In-Command. This one adores him. He’s practically got a shrine to him in his chambers. It makes his stomach curdle to think too long on that.

He’s staring up at Kylo like a puppy.

“Find where those coordinates came from.”

“Yes, sir. May I ask why, sir?” He’s hanging on every word, like whatever Kylo says next will be the revealed wisdom of the ages. Kylo sighs. He followed Snoke like this, when he was young. He wanted to be this, for Vader.

He wonders if Vader, had he seen Kylo, would have felt the same way he does now about his Second In Command, whom he calls, in the privacy of his mind, The Sycophant.

“Yes. Ask.”

His voice trembles as he says, “Why, sir?”

“Because as soon as I have my fleet of planet killers, we’re going to blow that bank out of existence. And at the same time, we’re going to remove every person on those planets, and then destroy whatever is left of value.”

“Sir!” The Sycophant looks horrified.

“No one, not even the great banking houses of the core worlds, dictate terms to me. As long as they presume to tell _me_ what and when and how I will pay, I will destroy what they own, and who owes them.”

The Sycophant is almost panting with glee at the idea of this. Just being near this kind of power makes him hard, metaphorically if not literally. “Yes! Sir! If you’d like, I can see about learning where their computer backups are, sir. With one strike, we can make it clear that if they do not bow to you, that we can erase all of their records.”

Kylo nods. “Yes. Do that. Until then, find me the least cruel overseer we have. I want him in charge of arranging for the ‘labor’ services on those planets. We’re going to move people off, not raw goods.”

“I will do that, sir.”

When the Sycophant runs to do his bidding, Kylo can feel the shade of Hux behind him.

“More dog bones?” He says, stepping next to Kylo, standing shoulder to shoulder with him, both of them looking out at unending space.

“That’s the idea.” Between the destruction of Starkiller, the Fulminatrix, and the Supremacy they are _low_ on manpower. They’ve got the largest force in the galaxy still, but that largest force is less than half of what it used to be. If the people on these world are of any value, he’s more than happy to scoop them up and into his service.

Hux has a disgusted expression on his face. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“They won’t love you for it.” Hux looks in the direction of where the Sycophant went. “Or if they do, it’ll be like him. They’ll love the image, the power, not the man.”

Kylo glares at Hux. He was never anywhere near that perceptive when he was alive. Then he shrugs. “They won’t loathe me, either. And the chaos… If he really can find the records.” He turns to the ghost of Hux. “We destroyed the Senate. What’s left of the Republic is reeling. The Resistance is gone. It numbers maybe a thousand spread across more systems than we can count. The only ones who can get near to doing us any harm now are the big banking families. Hit one hard enough that it bleeds, and the others will toe the line.”

“Or they’ll cut your credits off.”

Kylo’s utterly unperturbed by that. If he’s going down, he’s taking the entire First Order, and as much of the galaxy as he can, with him.

 

* * *

Kylo takes the pad from his Chief Training and Labor Officer, General Hurntor.

“This is the full report?”

“As full as we can make it, sir. After the… recent unpleasantness, we are missing some key figures to aid in our investigation and assessment, but… as best we can tell…”

Kylo nods, waving away General Hurntor.

He begins to read, occasionally sipping some tea while he digests what’s in the report.

On the most top level, Hurntor, who had been, before, as he put it, ‘The Recent Unpleasantness’ in charge of ‘recruitment,’ namely making sure their raiders kidnapped enough children to turn into soldiers each month, was more than willing to splash all the blame he could on Hux and Phasma’s corpses.

He’s diplomatic about it, not exactly faulting either of them, but making it very clear that while, in general, their training protocols were effective, there’s just no way to use fear and pain to make _every_ recruit into a model Stormtrooper.

He’s more than happy to suggest that a failure rate of up to 13% was being kept hidden by the Commandant Brendol Hux, and that General Hux was more than happy to continue sweeping his father’s failures into the crematorium.

His suggestions included going back to a system of actually ‘recruiting’ soldiers, instead of kidnapping them. Apparently test after test after test has shown that volunteers do a better job of following orders, and because they don’t have to be literally beaten into submission, they maintain enough ability to think outside the traditional parameters to make good officers.

Though, barring that, or if enough people could not be recruited, he thought droids may be a sensible answer.

Kylo sets the pad aside, sips his tea, and thinks.

 

* * *

“My Lord…” The Sycophant bows to him, and then turns, “The Branthean Delegation.”

Kylo nods, and the Sycophant backs away.

Kylo watches the half-dozen bureaucrats in front of him. He can feel the mix of fear and hope on them, and underlying that, true white-knuckled desperation.

The leader, an elderly man, dark of skin and eyes, and, probably, once, hair, but it is white now, kneels before Kylo.

Kylo gestures with his hand, curling his fingers upward, letting the man know to rise. “My predecessor enjoyed towering over men on their knees. I think it made him feel big.” Kylo sits back on his throne, black metal in the middle of an onyx sheen black receiving room. Black floors, black walls, black ceiling, all three broken only by bars of white-blue light, and a huge window looking out on the galaxy behind Kylo’s back.

The bureaucrat stands up, and Kylo continues, “I have no need for that.”

He can feel the petitioners noticing that they’re _alone_ with the Supreme Leader. There are no guards, no functionaries. He feels their fear mount. The man who allows anyone into his presence, alone, is the man who fears no one.

Or has nothing to lose.

Either way, he’s vastly more dangerous that the man surrounded by a phalanx of guards and a legion of flunkies.

“What brings you to my presence?” Kylo asks as the delegation all look at him, and around him, and each other, none of them sure how to address him or what to do.

“My Lord,” the older one begins, “We wouldn’t wish to trouble you, but we are desperate. Our system… We are on the edge of the unknown regions, and… unsavory… elements have long raided our borders.” He pauses, and swallows hard. “Sir… The Senate… They provided us with security. Troops, ships… manpower to protect our borders. We…” He’s trembling, so afraid that this request will result in physical harm to him. Terrified that reminding Kylo that the Senate of the Republic was more than just a debating society would cause him to burst in a fury of bad temper.

Kylo stays calm. He was aware of the fact that the Senate was _useful._ And that if he doesn’t want yet another Resistance popping up among the ashes of the old one, he’s going to need to take up that slack. Men do not long stand passive and quiet when their homes burn and their businesses are robbed.

“Do you have any Republic troops and ships left?”

The old man cringes. “A few… When the distress signal went out from Hosnian Prime…”

Kylo knows what he’s not saying. “Any that had faster than light capability flew to defend their home, didn’t make it in time, and promptly joined the Resistance to be destroyed by us.”

“Probably, My Lord… Or they are still in hiding. They did not return to us. The six that stayed have pulled back to our capitol planet, but six fighters cannot patrol a seventeen planet system, let alone protect it.”

Kylo nods. “You are, of course, correct. How many did the Senate offer you?”

“One hundred and fifty ships, fully crewed.”

“Then we will send two hundred until things are under control again. We will send another hundred to train your own people on. And when the raiders are under control, and your system has had time to rebuild, you will send me two hundred of your best men to join my forces, and the raw materials to produce three hundred more ships. Say… In two years?”

He can feel the palpable rush of relief from the delegation. They were expecting to be smacked, hard, for just asking.

“Thank you, My Lord.”

Kylo nods at that. Then he adds, “You will, of course, continue to remit the taxes you sent to the Republic, but to me.”

That gets a collection of startled looks between the delegation, followed by a fast, “Yes, of course, sir!”

Kylo offers him a quick, sharp smile. “Excellent. As soon as I receive confirmation that we’ve gotten your quarterly payment, I’ll have ships on the way.”

He can feel that they’re going to be mortgaging their own homes to get that payment together, selling businesses, begging from friends, but that they _will_ get it done. _That_ , the utter desperation to get anyone who can help them, cements Kylo’s next move.

“While we’re at it, if you have someone who specializes in the raiders, an intelligence analyst for example, make sure that my generals get in contact with him. Your system can’t be the only one having this problem, and we’re better off nipping it early than letting it fester.”

“Thank you, My Lord. We’ll make sure to send everything along.”

Kylo nods, and they retreat from his presence.

Kylo stands, turns, hand resting on the back of his throne, and looks out at the galaxy spread wide around him.

_Be a smart enough ruler, and maybe you won’t have any enemies._

He knows that’s impossible, and given how he got into this chair, friends are unlikely, too. But if he’s smart enough, and valuable enough, they won’t like him, but they’ll defend him.

He makes a mental note to tell the Sycophant to find out how many systems were farming out their security to the Senate forces, and then to offer the same protections, plus some, to them, in exchange for payment of back, and continuing, taxes. He guesses that will leave his men spread thin, but, at least right now, he’s still the biggest player in the game.

And he hopes, that once he spreads his men around, the other players will decide to support him. The status quo that protects you is almost always preferable to the future which threatens you. So, if he wishes to stay here, he needs to become that status quo.

He watches the stars, wondering which one Rey’s orbiting, and finds himself wondering what she would do if she were here, by his side. How would she have dealt with the petitioners?

He wonders, if… when, she hears about this, if it will make her smile, or if the idea of him ruling well will make her curse, because a good ruler will always have enemies, but they’ll be fewer and further between. And should he be that good ruler, what happens to her Resistance?


	9. Cynical

It’s been a week, and Rey feels like she’s done _nothing._ Chewie’s come and gone, and all she’s got to show for it is burnt time and paper cuts from a few of the books she’s read.

She’s sitting on her bed, looking at the disk. Black into white, swirling into each other, a small gray dot in the center.

“All is as the Force wills it…” She found a Jedi prayer book, and that’s the heading of one of the mantras. So, obviously, she’s not the first one to ever come up with that idea.

She supposes Luke must have at least thought he knew what he was doing when he burned the books. She supposes that this, too, must be as the Force wills it, but… She’s got so little. Even trying to think of a path for where to go next feels impossible.

Ben’s at least got a grounding of what he’s trying not to be.

She’s not entirely sure what a Sith even is, though, apparently Palpatine and Vader were Sith. What made them Sith is something she’s trying to find, but she hasn’t had any luck with that, yet.

Across her room is a stack of books. The Rise of Empire. Palpatine’s Shadow. Plans Within Plans. They’re good on _how_ Palpatine took down the Republic, but sketchy, at best, as to the sorts of details she wants. The Sith. The Jedi. What and how they were using the Force.

She flops back on her bed. _Useless._

Poe’s off conning rich people out of credits, or ships. Rose is infiltrating different mechanical companies, and just, slightly, tweaking their design specs. Finn’s busy writing up and training people in how to pass for a Stormtroopers. When they infiltrate again, they’ll know how to get in and out clean.

She’s reading. And researching. And supposedly, maybe… Trying… To make a new Jedi.

She sits up and uses the Force to lift the disk, setting it spinning in the air in front of her.

Balance.

How can she learn from the failures, or successes, of the past, if she doesn’t know what they were?

How can she avoid Luke’s mistakes if she doesn’t know how he made them?

“You didn’t help me!” The disk falls onto her bed as she hisses that.

He sits facing her, shimmering slightly, with a light-bluish glow. “What could have possibly made you think _I_ was good at this?”

She glares at him. “You’re _Luke Skywalker._ You’re _dead_ and talking to me.”

Luke snatches the disk, and looks at it. “I like this.” He sets it to spinning again. “I was good at _this._ ” He levitates everything in her room a few inches, and then gently drops them. “That’s bells and whistles. Pretty, flashy things to entertain the weak-minded.”

“I rescued the Resistance by floating rocks. They really floated! It wasn’t a trick.”

“I’m not saying they didn’t. I’m not saying magic and tricks aren’t _useful._ But they aren’t the Force, they’re using the Force. I could use the tool. I was good at using the tool. Very good. I wasn’t good at why I had the tool, or what the tool could really do, or even why there was a tool.”

She squints at him, but it’s clear she’s not getting it.

“I learned it as the Light side and the Dark side, and if you so much as set a toe over the line, you could never come back. That’s not…” He’s staring at the spinning coin. “Feel it. Reach out…”

She does, letting her mind drift through the Force. If she were to try and explain how it feels… Like water. Like the oceans on Ahch-To. Huge, all encompassing, constantly moving.

Luke nods. “Water’s a good way to think of it. And like water, there aren’t sides.”

“There was the dark place on Ahch-To. It was _dark._ It did not feel like the rest of your sacred island.”

“And one on Dagobah, too. But these days… I don’t think it’s the Force that’s dark or light. I think it’s a mirror. That dark spot was there to reflect your darkness, and mine. What did you see when you were in the cave?”

“Myself.”

Luke nods. “I saw myself in the dark cave in Dagobah. Supposedly, the old Jedi Temple was built on a dark force spot, too. I think they’re there so you don’t get too cocky about your own light.”

She thinks about that, but that doesn’t feel useful, either. She lets her mind go, trying to reach out and _feel_ what she needs to know. The only _feel_ that comes to her is the sensation of two almost black eyes staring at her like life itself depends on her reaching out her hand.

“Why do I keep seeing Ben?” she asks as she opens her eyes and faces Luke.

Luke shrugs. “Because you need to? Because he does? Because you’re both young and horny? Because the Force wills it? All of the above? None? I don’t know. I do know that you aren’t all light, and he’s not all dark, and neither of you ever were. I can see that now. I was never all light, either. My father was never all dark. Even Palpatine wasn’t.” Luke thinks about that. “Maybe Snoke was all dark, but, I doubt it.

“If there’s a dark side, it’s because something’s blocking the light. And if there’s a light, just look at its back, and you’ll find the dark. I know that, now. I didn’t when I was trying to re-start the Jedi, and they never learned it.”

“Then why do we bother to fight the dark?”

He shrugs at that, too. “Because we love the light, and we don’t want to see it blocked out? Because we were meant to?” He rolls his eyes a little. “Because it’s fun and makes us feel alive?” He shakes his head a bit. “Because you see a pretty girl, and she needs help, and that sounds so much better than sitting around in the middle of desert trying to scratch a few extra liters of water out of the atmosphere.”

“Your sister?” Rey looks disgusted.

“I didn’t know that, _then._ She was just the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen, and she needed help.” He looks contemplative. “Everything is as the Force wills it. You’ve been saying that?”

She nods. “Is it?”

“Maybe. If R2 hadn’t ended up at my farm, I’d have likely ended up a pilot for the Empire. Maybe not. Maybe Obi Wan would have gotten me before then, but… That’s where I thought I was going.”

“You…” She’s stunned by the idea that the great hero, Luke Skywalker, was a few centimeters away from joining the Empire.

“I didn’t have any love for the Empire, but it was a way for a good pilot with no credits to get off of Tatooine. Most of my friends did it.” He snorts a little laugh. “The Empire trained more than a few good pilots for the Rebellion.”

“So… Is Ben supposed to be Kylo?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you bring him back. I brought Vader back to Anakin. Maybe that’s all I was ever supposed to do. Ben had nineteen years to grab me and train me, and… nothing. He just let me sit out there in the desert. I don’t remember doing anything with the Force as a child… Maybe I rose because Vader and Palpatine got too strong. Maybe Anakin was all I was ever there to do. Everything else failed. We killed the Emperor, took out the Empire, and destroyed a galaxy-wide system resulting in civil wars and uprisings that made our Rebellion look like child’s play. Maybe, without me, the First Order never rises. Maybe, if he’d lived for more than ten minutes after I got him back, Vader would have returned. I don’t know. Maybe there is no back.” He watches the spinning disk. “Maybe we’re all turning, every minute. Maybe trying to just stay on one side is the problem?” Luke shoots her a dismissive glance. “Like I said, I was never good at this part. If you want a ridiculously complicated rescue scheme that hinges on twenty things all working exactly the right way, I’m your man. Need someone to shoot a tiny little target using the Force? I’m all over that.” He stops the disk spinning. “This… The only thing I know about this, is that what I did, I got wrong.”

She’s thinking about what Luke said about bringing Ben back. She’s seeing that glimpse of his future, or maybe past. “He murdered a system. How do you come back from that?”

“I blew up a Death Star. There were a million people on it. No one even suggested that might have put a speck of tarnish on my shiny ‘Luke Skywalker Hero of the Rebellion’ costume.”

“They were—“ The idea that anyone could even suggest blowing up the Death Star was a problem is new to Rey, and she’s trying to get away from that idea, fast.

“People, Rey. They were people. Some of them were evil. Some were good. Many of them were conscripts, there because someone held a literal blaster to their head. Most of them were likely doing their best to just make it from day to day. Just people.” Luke’s staring past her, seeing something she’s not part of. “And I got a medal for killing them.”

Luke sets the disk to spinning again. 

“Those books burned for a reason, Rey. Nothing in there is going to help. I’m not going to help. Start fresh, go inward, and from the Force, reach out. The answers are out there, and maybe, without my voice, and the voices of a million other dead Jedi clamoring in your ears, you’ll be able to hear them.”

“Or I’ll make your mistakes all over again.”

“Nah.” He waves that off. “You’ll make new and interesting ones, because you won’t be trying to bring back some mythical golden age while keeping your own Shiny Hero of The Rebellion Costume intact.”

“You’re very cynical.”

Luke sniggers at that. “I earned it.” And with that, he fades away.


	10. Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you have noticed that I'm not exactly playing along with the canon on the sacred Jedi books. Have no fear, loves, there is a plan!

If there is anything that Rey appreciates about no longer being on Jakku, it’s water.

On Jakku, water is used for one thing and one thing only, survival. Drink it, use it to cook, and that’s it. You don’t put it in pretty containers and look at it. You certainly don’t have pets that live in it.

And you absolutely don’t waste it by pouring it into a huge tub and then laying around in it.

Now… She’s on Careena. It’s not Ahch-Too, land of too much water, but it’s wet. There are trees and lakes and greenery all over the place.

And baths.

Even as a ‘guest’, her cottage has a bath. And she’s allowed to fill it as full of water as she likes, and just rest in it.

Which she’s done every day since she’s gotten here. She’s continuing her search for anything about the Jedi she can find. No “sacred” texts, not here. She doesn’t know if Luke found all of them, or if there just never were all that many, but she’s having very little luck with them.

History though… She can find that. Whatever else is true about Orlac, he likes books, and he’s got a lot of them.

Every day, she goes to the library, and pulls out more books, reading them, absorbing them, learning about the Old Republic, the New Republic, the fall of the senate, and the rise of Palpatine. She thinks about them as she floats in her pool of water before bed.

The librarian has made more than a few jokes about how she’s got to be a droid to read that many languages.

She’s just shrugged at it. Many languages moved through Niima Outpost, along with scrubby traders, smugglers, and thieves. Of course she’d pick them up.

Today she’s been reading about the rise of Palpatine. Whoever wrote the book admired him. That’s clear from the near fawning text. But… she’s grudgingly got to admit, that if even half of the maneuvering going on in this book is true, Palpatine knew how to rule. He had vision and a plan for how to get there and…

And she wonders if Snoke had any grand plan, or if Kylo has any idea what he’s gotten himself into.

There is another book on Palpatine, one that’s less complimentary to him, and she hopes that will give her a better idea of what he did, and how, and, better yet, why she feels like she needs to know this.

She’s thinking of that one, and hoping it will be interesting, when she hears, “That’s not how reading works.”

She thrashes in the water, trying to cover herself, but there’s nothing in easy reach.

“My back’s turned, and has been the whole time.”

“How?” a little calmer now, because when she looks behind her, she’s looking at his black cloak and hair, not his face, and with a moment to breathe, she can find a towel.

“I could feel you enjoying the water before I was… here… I knew not to open my eyes until you were behind me.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to get out. I’m not looking.”

She freezes, not sure if she should get out and dress, or stay in the water, enjoying it.

“When I was young, I used to swim.” Rey can feel him submersed in cool water, and the sensation of abject pleasure that went with it.

“I don’t think I ever saw this much water in one place my entire life, until I got off Jakku,” she says, settling back into the water, keeping him behind her back, too.

“Desert planet. It was supposed to have water once, but… Something happened, and then it didn’t.”

That could certainly be true, but if it is, it’s not anything she ever knew. “Why don’t you swim now?”

“No pool.”

“The Supreme Leader of the First Order can’t have a pool if he wants one?”

He shrugs. “When would I have time?”

“You have time to talk to me.”

“Or so the Force seems to think.”

She’s not sure why he’s here right now. Summoned by her thoughts of grand plans for ruling? Maybe he sought her out, the way she went looking for him when she was bored on the Falcon.

He surprises her with a question. “When you look at a book, do you just… see pictures or… how does it work?”

“I open it up, look at the page, and know what is says.”

“Any book?”

“Any I’ve opened so far.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t see the books.”

“It wouldn’t matter if you could. I don’t bring them into the bath with me. I wouldn’t want to get them wet.”

“Are they all the same language?”

She turns in the bath, carefully keeping most of her body covered by the side of the tub. She rests her arms on the back ledge, and her chin on her arms, and looks at his back, not understanding the question.

He doesn’t have to turn around to feel her not getting it.

“The symbols on the page. Are they all the same?”

“Of course not. What would be the point of the same symbol over and over?”

He sighs. “You never went to school.”

It’s not a question, but she answers it anyway. “No.”

He nods. “You don’t actually know how to read, do you? You just look, and you know.”

That’s the first time Rey’s even heard it suggested that this isn’t how it works for everyone. “What’s the difference?”

He doesn’t really know, other than it feels like there has to be one. “Practically, I’m not sure. You pick up a book, look at it, and know what’s inside of it. That’s basically how reading works, but for most of us, we have to learn what each symbol means, how they combine, or not, to form words, and then how those words combine to make sentences. And every language has different symbols, and to read them, we have to learn for _each_ new one. For most of us, reading takes actual work.”

“Oh.”

He closes his eyes, and mutters, “All is as the Force wills it.”

And Rey’s alone in her bath.

 

 

* * *

 _Through passion I gain strength._  

It was a long bathtub, and for once the Force let him see her surroundings. Well, the bathtub and water, at least. She was lying back, eyes closed, head on a pillow, hair spread around her. It’s starting to get longer, slipping from shoulders to shoulder blades.

He was behind her, far enough he couldn’t look straight down into the bath, but he could see her shoulders and arms, propped against the back and side of the bath. One leg, her left one, she had that propped on the edge of the bath, too.

The water was murky blue and smelled like… He doesn’t know. Sweet, floral… Some perfume. He’ll never forget it, but he doesn’t know its name.

He didn’t seek her out. Hadn’t been thinking of her. He’d been in the middle of reading where the Republic had troops stationed, and then he was in her bathroom, looking at her, feeling her thinking about books.

And with that, any and all thoughts about troop deployments vanished.

He’s seen a naked woman before. Several of them. But none like her. She’s strong. The kind of strength that comes with long hours of hard, physical work. Even with the Force, it took real muscle to fend of his attack in the forest. And when they’ve fought, on the same side, and the opposite, he’s been very aware of how solid she is.

The ladies he’s seen have tended toward small, willowy. Curvy of hip and waist, slender of arm and leg. Swanlike. If Rey is a kind of bird, she’s a predator. Something small and fast and deadly.

He stood behind her, and he looked. She lay there, stretched out before him, eyes closed, thinking, enjoying the water. He felt his passion rise, and his body followed, eager, wanting to strip out of his too hot, too tight, black clothing, and hop into the bath with her. He banished those thoughts, sure if he gave into them, she’d sense them. He turned around, and _then_ announced himself.

But she’s not here anymore, or he isn’t there. He’s alone, in his room, sitting on his bed, surrounded by reports.

_Through passion I gain strength. Through strength I gain power. Through power I gain victory._

And what would victory be here?

Her beneath him?

The image of it is so clear it makes him shudder, pulling in a quivering breath. Her hands in his, her lips on his, her legs around his hips, both of them rocking, slow and easy, until the sparks kindled, setting them on fire, making them moan and rush.

He can see it, feel it, her eyes on his, their faces inches apart, and this time there would be no fear, only pleasure, and curiosity. She’d want him, want to feel what came next. She’d open herself to him, and he’d slide forward, both of them gasping.  

Her eyes wouldn’t close, and neither would his.

Her fingers would clench between his, her legs tightening on his hips.

“Kylo.” He can hear it so clearly. She would call him by his name.

There would be no Ben. No light and no dark. Just them, their bodies, and the pleasure they could give each other.

It doesn’t take him long. He doesn’t seek out this kind of release often, and when he does, he usually finds a woman. The Supreme Leader doesn’t want for company, if he wishes it. But he doesn’t want company, not the sort that’s on offer to him.

He wants a face with dark eyes, a body with strong shoulders, and a voice that calls him by the name he chose for himself.

He wants to be embraced by someone who doesn’t fear him. Someone who doesn’t hate him. Someone who wants to touch _him,_ not _The Supreme Leader._

In his head, with his eyes closed, he can see and feel her. He can smell the perfume of the water, feel the sheets of his bed under him.

A few strokes, and his body goes tight, tingling. He feels the pulse surge through his fingers, toes, thighs, and shaft, again, and again.

He wipes up, tired, and wonders if she felt it. He was focusing so intently on her…

He wonders if she’d be insulted or pleased.

And before he falls asleep, he wonders if he’d feel it if she were to touch herself, imaging him.


	11. This Is A Dream

It’s a history of Darth Vader.

A boring history of Darth Vader.

How a book about _Darth Vader_ could be boring Rey doesn’t know. It defies belief that the great Jedi Killer, the man who took down the Republic, the nightmare that kept entire systems in line just by the fear of him, could have a boring biography.

But he does.

And, not only is it boring, it starts… In the middle. The man apparently sprung, fully formed, from the mind of Emperor Palpatine. There was no Darth, and then there was a Darth, and there’s nothing before he was Darth.

There had to have been _something._ Luke and Leia didn’t just spring from the ethers.

What did Ben call him? Anakin Skywalker.

She shuts the book on Vader, and goes looking for something about Skywalker.

* * *

Hours later, Rey debates getting a bath. It’s been a long day, and time to relax and think in the water would be nice. But… Somehow… she’s sure Ben will come tonight. She doesn’t know if she’ll call him or if he’ll call her, but she’ll see him.

And… It’s silly, but…

She missed seeing his face.

And if she’s in the bath, he won’t face her. Won’t look at what he hasn’t been invited to see. (Though she wonders if he peeked. And she wonders how she should feel if he did.)

There’s still an hour before she’d usually get in the bath. She wants time to think, to meditate, and to call out.

There were no books, at least, not that she could find, about Anakin Skywalker. Someone has to know something about him, and she has a good idea of whom.

Though she’s not sure if he’ll come.

She settles herself comfortably. Cross-legged on the floor. For a moment she remembers him saying, “Sit down, reach out… Do you feel it? That’s The Force!” Whap. “No, it’s not.”

She laughs at that.

“Definitely one of my better moments.” He’s sitting near her, glowing lightly.

“None of the legends said you had a sense of humor.”

“I didn’t. Not much of one. I was too busy being the _Jedi Master_ to have one. Han had the sense of humor. I just borrowed it from time to time.” He smiles at that, and she suddenly realizes that at least half of his last dance with Ben was him playing at being Han.

“Can you tell me about Anakin?”

“Some. I never knew much about him. I had a feel for him, but that was pretty much it.”

“I couldn’t find anything. Orlac has thousands of books, but none of them seem to have anything about him.”

That doesn’t appear to surprise Luke. “Obi Wan would know.”

“Obi Wan… Kenobi… He was…” She’s thinking hard, sure she’s run into that name before. She shakes her head.

“He died before you were born. And when the Empire took over, most of the records of the Jedi and what they did were scrubbed. For all I know, he may have gotten rid of most of the records about himself. Make him harder to track down.”

She doesn’t know what to do with that.

“I know Anakin was Leia and I’s father. I don’t know who our mother was. Ben probably knew…” She’s looking very surprised by that. And it takes him a moment to understand why. “Ben… Obi Wan became Ben when he went into hiding… Leia named her son after him.”

“Oh.”

“I know Anakin was a Jedi. I know that Obi Wan found him on Tattooine. And that he took him to Yoda to be trained, but Yoda didn’t think he was a good candidate for the Jedi. Obi Wan decided to take him on as an apprentice in spite of Yoda. He trained Anakin, but eventually Anakin fell to the Dark Side. At least, that’s how I was told it. Supposedly, when he fell, he became The Emperor’s enforcer. He hunted down and killed most of the Jedi. Yoda and Obi Wan were the only ones who survived.”

“What do you mean ‘that’s how I was told it’?”

“That’s how Ben understood it. Or how he wanted me to understand it. He could be a slippery nerf when he wanted to. He might not outright lie, but his definition of the truth was so flexible you could wrap it around you and wear it as a cloak.”

“What do you think happened?”

“Do you still have that disk?”

She reaches into a pocket and pulls it out. He holds out his palm, and she drops it into his hand. He flips it over a few times before levitating it and making it spin.

She watches it spin, slowly at first, and then faster, and slow again.

“These days, I think he was like the disk, light and dark, and sometimes the light won out, and sometimes the dark, but both sides were always there. Anakin didn’t fall to the dark side any more than the disk falls when the dark half is on top.”

Luke watches the dark and the light spin, and then he sets it to spinning in the other direction, too. The disk rotates on both axes. It whirls madly, dark and light flickering fast, but it doesn’t wobble, and though it’s in the air, it gives no hint of being in any danger of falling.

“As long as there’s balance, this’ll spin forever. And these days, I wonder, if he was dark when he needed to be dark, and light when he needed to be light, and if the balance was always where it needed to be. ‘If the Jedi die, the light dies with them.’ I know that isn’t true. The Force is universal and eternal. ‘Give in to the Dark side and forever shall it dominate you,’ but it didn’t. ‘For a while, the Force was in balance…’ When I said that, I meant, the light side had all the power.

"Reach inward, Rey, feel it. It’ll show you what you need to know, if you let it.”

“All is as the Force wills it to be?”

“Maybe. Is that how it feels to you?”

“Maybe. But if it is, does that make being… choosing… doing… futile?”

Luke shrugs. “Maybe in the cosmic scale of things, but you and I don’t… didn’t… live in the cosmic scale. We live in moments of time, and choice by choice.”

Rey smiles at that, liking the idea of it quite a bit. And for a second before he fades away, Luke looks satisfied with the idea that maybe some bit of advice he offered was _right._

  

* * *

Rey looks around her room, looks at her books, and the disk lying on her bed, and feels restless, bored.

She seeks Kylo out. The Force keeps dropping him in her lap, so obviously he’s part of whatever it’s trying to get her to understand.

Or maybe she’s just lonely.

And maybe, she just wants to see _him._

Focusing on him, drawing his image in her mind, and then letting that pull her to him, that’s how the bond works when it’s intentional. The image that greets her makes her smile. Apparently, the Supreme Leader of the First Order decided he wanted a pool.

She can’t see the pool. Has no idea of its dimensions, color, or shape, but she can see him, lying back, eyes closed, floating.

 

 

He’s naked, and for a moment she can feel the blush rising on her cheeks. But only for a moment. He’s either unaware of her presence or supremely unconcerned by it. She lets herself feel for him. Unconcerned. He knows she’s here, but he want her to look. So, she takes the time to look.

Her eyes land on the scars, first. The one on his side… That one is Chewie’s. The rest… The line across his face and chest, the crater in his shoulder, she either put there or was instrumental in having them put there.

Her eyes trail further down. He’s… less hairy than she was expecting. Just a little at the center of his chest, a little more trailing below his navel, and a bit around… it.

And… it’s just… lying there on his belly. It almost makes her want to giggle. Laying there, soft and floppy, bobbing along with the motion of the water, silly almost.

She’s felt one… more than one… probably more than one… she’s made sure she doesn’t remember it well enough to know, not for sure. But she’s never seen one. Her eyes stayed glued shut the whole time. If she didn’t see it, it could have been a bad dream.

Ben’s it… It’s smaller and softer than… before.

Safe. That couldn’t hurt anyone.

She laughs at that in her head. The most dangerous man she knows. The most dangerous man she’s ever met. Probably the most dangerous man in the galaxy. And right now, he’s soft, loose, relaxed. Floating in a pool of water, letting his mind drift, just feeling whatever currents surround him.

And in his presence, she feels safe.

She draws her knees to her chin, wraps her arms around her shins, and looks.

After a moment he says, “Do you enjoy seeing me?”

“I do like this.”

They’re both quiet.

“I take it you got a pool, then?” she asks.

“What’s the point of being The Supreme Leader if I can’t get a soak when I want one?”

She laughs, a little, at that.

He smiles, a little, before saying, “Through passion there is strength. Through strength there is power. Through power there is victory. Through victory I break my chains. In the Force there is freedom. That’s the mantra of the Sith.”

She guesses that was what he was thinking when she appeared. Or it’s what he wants to share with her. “Are you free?”

“No. And I never was.”

“Does that mean you’ve never won victory?”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps the Sith were full of shit. There were supposed to be only two of them at a time. A master and an apprentice. The master uses the apprentice. The apprentice uses the master, and maybe, if he’s good enough, kills him, and then takes his own apprentice. That’s the victory which breaks chains.”

“Your master is dead. I watched you kill him.”

“I freed myself from him, and gained all of his masters.”

“Snoke had masters?” That’s a startling idea to Rey. Snoke did whatever he wanted whenever he wanted, right?

“Even Snoke needed a bank. And good administrators. And competent spies. And tax collectors. And policy makers. And engineers. And any one of them is one bad command away from joining your side.”

She thinks about that for a moment, and doesn’t have much to say. She asks a different question, “Was there a Jedi creed?”

“Yes. I learned it a long time ago.”

“What was it?”

“There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force.”

She lets those words linger in her mind, feeling them, and everything that’s gotten her here. “You weren’t kidding. The Sith didn’t need to kill them, they were already dead.”

He shifts in the water, moving into a standing position, water just coming to his hips, and pushes his hair out of his face. She can feel he’s pleased by her assessment of the Jedi creed. He smiles… no smirks… That’s a smirk. She’s never seen him smirk before and decides it suits him. “She says from her tower of books.”

Her eyebrows rise. He’s _teasing_ her. She’s not sure what to do with that, so she goes straight at it, treating it as an on the level comment. “My tower of books. Each one I read shows me a million more things I’m ignorant of. They fill me with joy at learning, and open a thousand new and chaotic paths of inquiry. It’s good, and valuable, but this isn’t serenity, and it’s not peace. It’s a drive, to know more, and knowing more to find a path. I may be gaining knowledge, but I’m becoming sure of my ignorance, too.”

He smiles at that. “The codes do us no good in the real world.”

“Apparently.” And then she’s back in her own room.

She can still hear his voice though. “Join me in a bath, tomorrow?”

She’s sure he’ll hear her response. “Yes.”

 

* * *

In the weeks she’s been here, reading, she’s never found Careena to be lonely, but right now, alone in her rooms, freshly cut off from Ben, she is lonely.

She wants to go back to the pool and…

Her teeth grit. She’s not sure what, exactly, she wants to do.

No. She knows what she _wants_ to do. She doesn’t know what she wants to deal with the fall out of.

She draws her own bath, feeling the water pouring over her toes. It’s been a long time, and many miles, and several lives, or so it feels, since she was small, and alone, and scared on Jakku.

Eons.

But if she lets herself, she’ll be back there again in a minute. And that’s not anywhere she wants to go.

She’s sure… enough… in her preferences-- _Stop it. Don’t lie to yourself._ She’s not _sure_ of anything. She doesn’t know what would happen if she lets herself open to another person like that. Not sure how touching someone… having them touch her… would work.

He’d… probably… let her set the pace and rules. But she’s not sure of that.

And even if he did… She can remember the way he looked at her as the Supremacy was burning. His eyes burned, too. So much heat, all of it directed at her, and all she had to do was take his hand.

Take his hand, say yes, be his… Queen? Empress?

She didn’t know, and she wanted to find out, for a second at least.

And for a second at least, she understood Luke’s weakness. For a heartbeat, she could feel the allure, the desire, such an easy answer. One small moment, and all of the problems would disappear.

Say yes, take his hand, end the bombardment…

_Rule._

And if he looks at her like that again… And he will, she knows he will… And if the only lives in the balance are his and hers…

He may let her set the rules, but if he looks at her like that, she’ll want to break them.

She turns the water off, and sinks into her own bath.

_All is as the Force wills it…_

A fleeting thought dances through her mind, if all is as the Force wills it, and if he’s constantly popping into her mind naked…

She settles into that thought, feeling it, trying to see where that’s supposed to go.

But by the time she’s done with her bath, she’s not sure if that’s just about making sure she sees the man instead of a monster, or if the Force needs her to see a _man_ to balance her _woman._

 

* * *

“This is a dream.”

Rey’s not sure how she can tell the difference, but _this_ is a dream.

Wet.

She’s wet. Before, she was aware that Ben was in a pool. If she had been with him, she’d have been in the pool, but she was dry. She was aware of sitting on her own bed, could feel the blanket under her skin, and the softness of her mattress.

This time, she’s wet. And she’s wet because she’s stepping into the pool, where Ben’s floating.

He’s naked again, floating on his back, soft, relaxed, eyes closed.

She’s naked too, but uncaring about that. She wants to just look, and right now, in the moment of eternal dream, she can. She takes the time to map each mole, to trace scars with her eyes, to watch the way his hair drifts in the water.

She wonders how old he is. He, at least, probably knows that. She doesn’t know how old she is, and likely never will. However old he is, right now, floating, he looks young.

But not peaceful. Still, very still, but this is the stillness of a predator waiting to pounce. He’ll be peaceful when he dies, and not a moment before. She knows that, just as fully as she knows that looking isn’t enough, she needs to touch, too.

When their hands met on Ahch-To, there wasn’t any spark. No jolt. Just an overwhelming sense of _right._ Like his skin was the thing her skin had always needed.

She walks through the water, feeling it glide across her waist, reaching her hand out. This time, when her hand brushes his shoulder, there’s a spark, an electric thrill spreading up her fingers and arm. He reaches across himself, taking her hand in his as he shifts from floating to standing, facing her, holding her hand against his shoulder.

His eyes are so dark. Most of the time, in most lights, they look black, but right now, she’s close enough to see they’re dark, dark brown.

That look… A million words, million feelings, a gaze that makes her feel like he needs her the same way he needs air. Part of her wants to run from it. No one can be that for another person, and it’s silly to want it, or to try and be it. Part of her revels in it. No one’s ever wanted, or needed her like that.

Want. There’s so much want in his eyes. So much need.

His fingers find her face, tracing light over her cheek. His thumb makes a slow journey over her lower lip. His lips part, and he breathes deeply.

 

 

She feels her own breath come faster, shaking slightly as the touch of his fingers lights fires along her skin.

Her free hand raises, and trails through his hair, sliding through the wet strands easily. His eyes slide shut as he turns his face into her touch, and a small sigh escapes his lips.

She trails her hand down his neck, shoulder, and arm, finding his hand, and twining her fingers with his.

His eyes slide open, finding hers again, and he exhales slow and deep. He steps closer, his chest brushing her breasts, and for a heartbeat she’s wrapped in the fire of that touch, then he’s wrapping his hand around the back of her head, pulling her up to her toes, as he bends a bit, meeting her lips with his.

White hot, slow burn. She’s hovering between heartbeats, stretched out on nerves tense as wire, begging for this touch, for more of it, for it all over.

Her arms wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, reveling in the hot, solid feel of him against her.

His hands tighten on her, one behind her head, the other anchoring her at the small of her back.

He’s rubbing against her, and she’s leaning into the kiss, trying to climb him, to get higher, closer, more, more of his lips and his skin and the feel of his _heat._

Fire. Ben is fire. Hot all over. Passion in every touch, every kiss, every second of his skin against hers, and she wants to collapse into his flame, let it burn away the ice around her.

His hand moves lower, sliding from her back to her butt, squeezing, pulling her tighter against him.

In the water she’s light, and even if they didn’t have it for support, she knows he could take this, she jumps, wrapping her legs around his hips. He doesn’t even stagger. Fire yes, but not a soft flickering flame that even the slightest breeze will shift. He’s the flame of his saber, jagged, but steady.

His hands cup her bottom, and she wraps her arms around his neck. Here, higher up, she can kiss him easily, and they can _rub._

It’s delicious. His body, wet and hard and hot. Hers, slick and begging. She can glide against him, nipples, delta, lips, all wet and glowing with pleasure, all dragging over his skin.

His lips break from hers, so he can look her in the eyes. His gaze is so intense, so present. She can feel what he wants, and she wants it too.

It’s a matter of an inch or two, just a little shifting, and then she’s slipping down him, breath easing from her lips, shaking, as he hisses at the feel of it.

His eyes never leave hers, burning her with the look of the pleasure rising between them.

There should be motion, but she doesn’t feel it, just enveloping tension, pleasure, heat. So hot. Every inch of both of them suffused with languid, pulsing heat.

Then there is motion. Rocking, him, her? She’s not sure who’s moving, just that they are. Fluid and wet, slow and then faster, rocking together, sparks lighting up her spine and between her legs.

Tighter, legs and arms clenching, moving erratically. Motions still fluid, but the fluid of the sea during a storm, broken and harsh.

She’s clenching his shoulders, legs tight on his hips as she bounces against him, and he’s gripping her butt, hard, so hard, grinding into her, seeking to find the release of this tension.

Another hard thrust, and her head falls back, eyes closing as she shouts at the feel of it. Her body unraveling, releasing in shuddering twitches, and hot pleasure.

 

* * *

Rey wakes, sweaty, wet, still tingling. She rolls over and settles back into sleep in a moment.

 

* * *

Kylo wakes with the hardest erection he’s ever felt. His shaft feels like pulsing plasteel. A second ago he was wrapped in… everything he’s ever wanted. Hot, and wet, and rippling around him. Her head was back, as she gasped with pleasure, and he was a millimeter behind her, just about _there_ and now…

He’s tangled in the fucking sheets and his pajamas. He can’t get his hand into his pants fast enough, so he flips over, thrusting against the bed, fast, hard. It’s rougher than he’d like, warm with the heat of his body, but not _hot._ There’s no wet or glide, and no face flushed with pleasure, no eyes urging him on, no legs around his hips, or fingers clenched on his shoulders…

No Rey…

But he’d been so close. Another stroke or two would have done it. He’d have ridden the waves of her body home in barely a heartbeat.

It doesn’t take much longer on his own, a thrust, two. He’s shouting into his pillow, biting it to keep the noise down. Last thing he needs is some idiot with a blaster running in because the Supreme Leader shouted when he’s supposed to be sleeping alone

His body pulses, tingles flowing through it, and then he can relax. He collapses onto the bed, panting, and after a minute he rolls back over, untangling himself, wiping up, and throwing his pajamas aside.

He’s asleep again in a minute.


	12. Kylo

Time moves slowly through his day. Kylo gets confirmation of the location of the bank, and confirmation that there are people looking into where it keeps its records, and that a ‘good’ overseer is coming in.

All of that’s important, and moving his plans forward, but… It’s tedious.

And with memories of the dream more or less constantly floating through his head, he’s having difficulty concentrating on his work. Even his Sycophant is willing to mention that he appears to be distracted today.

Finally, it’s the end of his day.

His underlings know that on no account is he to be disturbed for anything less than a full-fledged attack on his, personal, ship. He’s got Admirals; if someone attacks a different ship, they can handle it.

Once the door to his chambers slides shut, he’s done for the day.

He doesn’t know, not exactly, where tonight will lead, but he certainly has _hopes._

 

 

* * *

The Sycophant had been surprised when he told him to get him a bath, but he made it happen, in less than a day, a not insignificant task. And… though he hadn’t given any thought to how it would look, a sleek black rectangle twice as long as he is, and half again as wide, does have a certain elegance to it. The small blue lights at the bottom make the water glow, and light the corner of his room it’s tucked into with glowing ripples.

Snoke had his little gold slippers. Something soft and easy on his sore feet.

Kylo has several thousand gallons of water.

Apparently, Supreme Leaders are allowed their idiosyncrasies.

He strips off his gloves first, striding across his room to his bath, and trails his fingers through the water. Blood warm.

On Chandrila, where he was born, and lived his first several years, the water was cold. Mostly because it was in a small pond outside his mother’s home. The first minute after jumping in was always an ecstatic blend of pain and pleasure. The feel of pulling in, tight, skin and mind and lungs screaming from the cold, and eventually, he’d relax, body going numb to everything but the feel of himself moving through the water.   

He supposes it could be cold, here, too. If he wanted it. But he doesn’t. He’s not interested in reliving his past, even the good parts.

That thought seems to conjure her. His present and future maybe, but very much not his past.

She’s already in her bath… or the bath… Maybe she’s here. Maybe he’s there. He doesn’t much know or care.

There… Her feet are propped up on the edge of her bath, right heel on left ankle, but there’s no edge in his pool. At least not where her feet are.

Her eyes are closed, though he’s sure she knows he’s there. He watches her, lying there, relaxing in the water, head back, arms and legs resting. Whatever turned the water blue last time, she’s not using it now. It’s just as clear as the water in his pool.

She’s before him now, so he can see… everything. The last view, head, shoulders, arms, knee and lower leg, that got to him. It made his blood burn and his body hard. But that was just the suggestion of nudity. This is it. Her whole body, laid out before him. He hopes she knows he’s here, hopes she’s okay with him looking, because he’s not sure if he could turn away, even if he wanted to.

But he doesn’t want to.

He wants to stand here and look. Especially after the dream. She spent forever looking at him, and he… just lay there. Tonight he gets to look. He wants to burn breasts and thighs, belly and delta, all of it, into his memory. Warm skin and dark hair and pink nipples and rose lips and dark, dark, dark eyes.

Starting at him.

Watching him watch.

He swallows, hard.

She’s not covering up, or hiding herself or, anything other than watching him watch her.

“Do you like seeing me like this?” she asks.

He starts to try and answer, but his voice cracks. He coughs, and finally chokes out, “Yes.”

“Good.” She looks him up and down. “You’re dressed.”

He nods, absently. “Should I not be?”

“I’d prefer it that way.”

He nods again. He shrugs off his cloak, and then sits on the edge of his pool, pulling off his boots. Socks next. He feels silly taking them off, but… everyone wears them. Somehow, just admitting he owns socks, wears them, feels…

“Human,” she says. “Everyone, even Supreme Leaders, get sweaty feet.” She lifts her own leg, wriggling her toes. His eyes trace the line of her leg, slipping up to the dark curls that grace her delta, and the flash of pink lip peeking from among them. He swallows, hard, again, seeing it… her. Her voice rips his eyes away from it. “Mine are tan and gray.”

He looks at the sock in his hand, like the rest of his clothing, it’s black. He drops it, and reaches for his belt, unhooking it. It clatters when it hits the floor. His tunic is next. Normally, he doesn’t think about the long line of hooks and eyes that keep it closed, but right now he’s very aware of the hundreds of little metal loops that keep it fastened.

It shouldn’t be that complicated, but he’s fumbling it.

And through it all, she stares. Not speaking, not looking away, not even blinking. She’s watching his every move.

Finally, he’s free of the tunic. He pulls his undershirt off next, and then he’s down to the just his trousers and briefs. A few moves. He yanks on a zipper, pushing his trousers off, down his legs, kicking them off. His briefs are another few seconds of effort, then he’s standing in front of her, naked, flushed, and hard, very, very hard.

And she’s watching. She nods. “You can look all you want, but no touching. Not yet.”

He can abide by that. He’s honestly not entirely sure he even can touch her. They haven’t tried, not since the first touch in… wherever they were. He’s almost afraid that if he were to try to touch her, she’d be like Luke, just a phantom. Or worse, his dream… her dream… he doesn’t know where it started, but the idea that it’d just slip away from him again…

He’s not sure he could handle the disappointment of reaching out, looking for skin, for that electric moment where his fingers met hers, and not find it.

This, here, slipping into the water, near her, his feet along side of hers, is safer.

He floats for a moment, both of them do, just letting the water hold them. He can feel the current of the water, the way it laps at his skin. He can feel the heaters below, and the way the water rises as it warms. Warm rises, cools, drops, warms again. Always cycling, always looking for balance.

Then, staring at the ceiling in his chambers, he says, “If you won. If you turned me, and if your Resistance succeeded, what would happen?”

He feels the spark in her, there’s a flush of pleasure and joy at the idea. She sits up, fast, and he hears water slosh, but it’s the water of her pool. His is calm around him, barely moving. For a moment she’s just watching him, seeing if he’s serious, and he just lays there, keeping his quiet, eyes closed, facing the ceiling.

She knows it can’t happen today, but he’s asking. He can feel she sees that as being a centimeter closer to getting him to her side.

And then he feels her excitement wane as she keeps watching him. She doesn’t _know_ what to do with him. Or with the Resistance.

“We’d get the Republic back…” she sounds tentative about that.

“Tried and failed.”

“Because you popped up and slapped it down.”

“I spoke with one of my bankers recently. The First Order is 36.8 trillion credits in debt. To _one_ bank alone. How do you think we get that sort of credit without _powerful_ , _rich_ people, a _lot_ of them, who didn’t want a Republic? No one ventures that much credit unless they’re sure their backers will make sure I don’t default.”

Rey doesn’t know the answer to that.

He’s still staring at the ceiling. It’s easier to think about anything other than her skin, and the way it felt in his… their? dream, if he’s looking up. And as long as he’s not thinking about that, he won’t want to touch… too much. “What would you do with me? There’s ‘conflict’ and ‘still good’ within me, so… I turn. I burn my black, put on tan, take a new name…”

“Ben?”

“No. Not Ben. Never again, Ben.” His voice is sharp as he says that. “What would you do with me?”

He feels the conflict in her. If he turned… She would… She _should_ turn him in. Hand him over to his mother. Give him to whatever legal system the Resistance has. And they, in a matter of minutes, would condemn him to death _after_ they filled him with any and every drug to make him tell all of the First Order’s secrets. And, assuming his mother didn’t literally sit next to him every second he was in custody, he’s sure he’d have at least some _rough_ treatment coming his way.

He nods at the ceiling as the water laps at his skin. “Drugged and tortured until I reveal everything about the First Order followed by execution for war crimes doesn’t exactly make me feel any desire to say goodbye to my current position.”

“We could run.”

That gets him to sit up, face her, look her in the eye. She’s watching him, eyes wide and staring, hair wet, plastered to her head and face, voice calling him, trying to temp him away. “Leave this behind. Come find me. We’ll find young Jedi and—“

“Teach them the ways of the Force…” there’s scorn in his voice.

“Yes! You offered it to me. I’m offering it back to you. Us. A new way. Our way. No more light side, no more dark side. No Jedi, no Sith. Just… balance. Life and death and light and dark and pain and joy and…” She’s staring him in the eyes, her gaze so earnest. He’s leaning in toward her, pulled in by her gaze, and the glimpse of a future where both of them are free. “We could do it, Ben.”

He closes his eyes and looks away, wincing at the audible clang of the false note of that name. Then he reaches out, fast, grabbing her hand, and pulling it to his chest.

She jolts at the contact, about to pull back, and run, and he shudders at it. Her hand, solid, in his, against his heart.

Her touch, his, _real._

“Do you feel me?” He’s holding eye contact with her, holding her hand to his chest, both of his wrapped around her wrist, keeping their minds close.

“Yes.”

“And you know what I say is true?”

And right now, she does. He couldn’t lie to her right now if he tried, but he doesn’t want to. He just wants her to understand. No one else ever has, but she… he needs this more than he needs her body, her lips on his, and her skin sliding against him.

And he knows, suddenly, hard and solid as the mountain of rock the base on Crait was in, that if she cannot get this, they’ll never go any further than this. If this is something she can’t understand, the Force will leave them. They won’t see each other again.

This is their breaking point, and her hand between his, his eyes on her, every cell of his body, every bit of the Force at his command, he lays it out for her.

 

 

“There is no Ben.” His breath is shaky, intense, and his eyes push every truth, every feeling he can, to her. “There never was a Ben. Ben was an ideal, not a person, born to people who cared more about a Republic than the child they created. The darkness. The ‘conflict.’ The power. It’s _always_ been here.” He draws her back, to the sense of Leia, hand cradled upon a swollen belly, feeling his power, the light and the dark within. She can feel Leia’s joy at the light, and fear, and revulsion, of the dark. “There isn’t a time I can remember when I was ever the golden child they envisioned.”

He gently squeezes her hand. “If there is ever going to be balance, there cannot be a Ben. Balance cannot be an absence of dark. It can’t be managing the dark. It can’t be exterminating it. Or pretending it isn’t there and doesn’t do what it does.”

She nods at him, slowly, feeling what he’s saying, feeling the weight, and truth of it. Feeling the thrum of his heart under her hand, and the heat of his skin.

And he can feel it, know it, she understands.

He’s about to shout with the pleasure of that. This _feels_ better, more real, more _important_ than any victory he’s ever won.

And then she’s gone, and he’s alone, in his bath, holding nothing.


	13. Cheer My Name

“Yes, Chewie. I’m fine. Really. I read all day, think about what I’m learning all night. That’s it.”

At least, that’s it of what she’s willing to tell Chewie. She’s beyond wary, on many levels to mention her Force visits with Be—Kylo.

They’re on the Falcon. These visits are always on the Falcon. Orlac isn’t exactly enthusiastic about Chewie roaming around his university, and Chewie wants to make sure that if there’s any hint of Rey not wanting to stay, that he can whisk her away.

“Chewie… how old are you?”

_235._

“Oh…” That’s a _lot_ older than she was thinking. “So… You remember the Republic.”

_Of course._

“One of the books… a few of them actually… They say the Republic voted Palpatine into power.”

Chewie nods, and then makes an extremely expressive sound indicating he did _not_ hold the Senate in any great esteem.

“Oh.”

She’s thinking about that. And finally says, “Why did you join the Rebellion?”

She blushes at his answer. And stammers… “That’s… not… Really?”

Chewie nods. _Humans are silly about sex. I told Han to just grab her by the hair and have at it, but nooo… We end up in the Rebellion, and get captured by Jabba, and then by those furry menaces on Endor, and… We had a sweet deal, moving contraband under the nose of the Empire. Next thing I know, he’s a general and ‘respectable,’ and Lando’s got a field command, and we’re hip deep in politics and… No more late night sabacc games, and no more drinking as the sun rises in a shady port looking for the highest price contraband we can move. No more daring the edge of death by plotting the shortest, fastest course. No, suddenly we’re standing around at ‘dinners’ and ‘hobnobbing’ and Han’s got medals, and ‘polite’ people try to make conversation with me, but I can tell they just think I’m a monster._

 _As soon as trouble broke out, we both_ ran _back to the Falcon. Fighting with blasters was always better than fighting with words._

He looks mournfully at the path to the cockpit, and Rey knows how much he must miss his friend.

She lays her hand on his, and nods.

He changes the subject, and that’s some good news.

This gets a smile out of her. “Oh… That’s great! When?”

She nods along as he responds.

“Then next month, I’ll have to be on Lirium. I can’t miss Rose and Finn getting married. You’ll pick me up?”

Another howl.

“Good.”

Chewie adds a few more tones, and that makes Rey’s eyebrows bunch together.

“Where were they?”

Chewie gets up, crossing the hold of the Falcon, and lifts the seat of one of the benches. _Here, of all places. I needed a spot to… secure something._

Rey knows that in between visits to check up on her, that Chewie’s keeping up the old business. And, likely, smuggling things for the Resistance, too. She intentionally doesn’t ask what he was securing. If she needed to know, she would.

Then she focuses on the books. Luke’s books. The sacred texts of the Jedi. “He said he burned them.”

Chewie holds one of the books up. It’s tattered, but not burnt. They _don’t look burned to me. Porg-chewed. One of the damn things was using one of the books to line its nest, but it’s not burned._

Rey sniggers at that. “Still haven’t gotten rid of them?” She’s asking to tease him. The one she calls Waldo is trying to hop into her lap for cuddles.

Chewie’s wail is plaintive. She nods and pats his hand again.

“I’m sure they do grow on you.”

Waldo succeeds in his attempts, and butts her hand with his head, hoping to get his wings scratched.

Chewie almost chirps at that.

She laughs at his response, as she scratches Waldo and he coos at her. “I suppose they are kind of like warts, that way.”

Chewie rolls his eyes, and sighs, and says, _Speaking of warts, how’s Lando’s sprog?_

Rey shrugs. “I never see him. There’s his school, and I see students in the library, eat with them in the dining hall, but I never see him. They say he’s a good teacher.”

Her eyes go wide when she hears what he had to say about that. “Chewie! That’s… unkind.”

He growls.

“That is, too. So far, he’s been good to me.”

Chewie grunts, growls, and howls.

“Well, if that’s true, he’s going about it very oddly. I literally _never_ see him. If he’s working on seducing me, it’s the most… hands off technique anyone’s ever heard of.”

Chewie’s eyes narrow, and he’s got a _lot_ to say about that.

“Look, I don’t know what he gets out of it.”

_Spy!_

“There’d be nothing but First Order men here if that were the case.”

_He’s got to be after something._

“I’m sure he is. But I don’t think whatever he wants has anything to do with me.”

Chewie doesn’t believe it. _You be on your guard!_

“Chewie.”

His look says it all.

“Fine.”

Chewie nods, satisfied.

 

 

* * *

Rey’s been reading.

A lot. Okay… she’s been napping, a lot.

The books are in front of her. She stares at them for entire minutes at a time before her eyelids grow heavy and her shoulders slump and…

This isn’t working.

She takes the next of the sacred books of the Jedi. (Proper Care and Maintenance of the Holy Cistern of the Great Temple. She’s got a sense that it’s sacred because it’s _old_. And probably because no one’s read… or if Be-Kylo’s right about how reading works _been able_ to read it in eons.) And begins to walk.

At least if she’s walking while she reads she won’t fall asleep.

Walking, does not, however, cease her mind from wandering. (Because there’s only so much attention she can give to: “On the fourth full moon of every cycle drain the cistern, then apply a thin coating of wax to all of the visible surfaces. Buff the wax exactly fifty four times in a leeward motion, then…”)

“The Jedi need to die…” More and more she’s coming to the conclusion that Luke’s right about that. And if he’s not, then the Jedi need a serious re-working.

_There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force._

It’s not… workable. At least it doesn’t feel that way, not to Rey. Maybe… She doesn’t know who wrote those books she’s been napping through, but maybe they weren’t human… Maybe peace and knowledge and serenity came easily to them.

But to her… Those mantras feel like rites for the dead.

Passion… matters. Control it, bend it to your will, find a purpose for it…

“Through passion there is purpose.”

That springs to her mind, fast. That… feels right. That, matters. But… that can’t be it. Where does purpose lead?

“Through purpose you find motivation.”

Good. Find a passion, use it to give you purpose, goals, dreams, those dreams motivate you to move.

“Motivation triggers action.”

That’s good. Keep moving. Move day and night. Gain the strength, wisdom, resources you need to do what you want or need to do.

“Action gives strength.”

There. That’s good. Put your passion into play. Use it. Make something with it. Become strong, powerful and then… “Take over the galaxy and kill everyone who won’t bow to you as a slave.” Okay, that can’t be where this leads. That’s just prettying up the Sith code.

“With strength comes responsibility.”

Better. Become strong. Gain power. Do… something with it. Something good.

“And with responsibility comes service.”

Rey mulls that over, rolling it around in her head. “Through passion there is purpose. Through purpose you find motivation. Motivation triggers action. Action gives strength. With strength comes responsibility. And with responsibility comes service.”

Maybe it’s not perfect, but that’s… better. That’s a code humans can use.

Not all Jedi are humans… True. But walking around, she’s filled with the sense that if she’s going to do this, rework the Jedi, she’s at least got to come up with a code _she_ can use.

And if whoever the original Jedi code was written for ever pops up, they can use that.

She continues to stroll around Orlac’s garden, watching twenty or so people, mostly humans, but a few aliens, painting or sculpting on the grass. There’s passion here, dedication, action, but not responsibility. These are the people who gave the galaxy away to follow their dreams.

She looks at herself, feeling the path under her feet, and the grass around her. If she means what she’s just said… She has power, at least, at arm’s length, and thus, responsibility.

As soon as she’s back in her room, she’s going to seek out Kylo.

 

 

* * *

This is not even close to when they normally link.

And while it’s true that part of what’s going on is she’s _excited_ about where to take this next, part of it is breathing space. Their last visit was _intense_ and she’s still not exactly sure, what, if anything, beyond call him Kylo, to do with it.

She does know, by settling down now, not in her bath, completely dressed, three hours earlier than normal, that she’s intentionally trying to make this meeting less _intense._

Give herself, and maybe him, some breathing space.

Like usual, she fills her mind with his image, and as she focuses, as she gets her sense of him, he sharpens from an idea to real. Before she can even really see him, she feels a flash of anger and annoyance, but not at her. Something is going on around him.

She doesn’t speak, not sure if there’s anyone around him. She raises an eyebrow, and he nods, quickly. “I’m alone.”

“Good. What would happen if I came to you? Left this behind…”

He smiles at that, reveling in the idea. She can feel his image of the two of them, side by side ruling together. Whatever else has happened today, just the idea of this is improving it, for him. “Anything you wanted.”

She just stares at him. “Anything?”

“Complete, ultimate power.”

“Until your bankers pull their credits.”

His voice is dry when he says, “I’m taking care of that. What would you do as my…” she can feel he’s not sure what to say here. There’s a word, and he’d like to use it, but he won’t. Instead he says, “Equal.”

She’s never given that any thought. The idea of it is so foreign that… She shakes her head. “Restore the Republic.”

He shrugs. “We could do that. Palpatine kept the Senate in place for decades. But why?”

Again she doesn’t have an answer for this. “It’s… the right thing to do!” She sounds painfully naive, even to herself.

He stares at her. “Before she was the General, what was my mother?”

Rey knows where he’s going and decides to intentionally miss the point. “Senator.”

He rolls his eyes. “Before that? How did she become a senator?”

“Princess.” She winces.

“Did you know that, if there was still an Alderaan, I’d be the prince of it? Maybe not, now. But when I was younger… There was a scuffle when I was young, and my mother had to give up her claim to the throne of a few thousand people who clung to a political system of a planet that no longer existed. If she hadn’t, I’d be the next king of Alderaan.”

Rey doesn’t like that.

Kylo hammers it home further. “So, what, exactly, is the point of a Republic when a third of the members are hereditary monarchs, another third are the offspring of pirate warlords, far enough removed from the bloody hands of their ancestors to have put a veneer of respectability on their ill-gained riches, a quarter are bankers, and the rest make up a handful of democracies that can never get anything done because people don’t agree on what to do?”

“At least the people would have some control over their futures and destinies. Better half a dozen democracies than none.”

He snorts at that, too. “I could open it up to a vote tomorrow. Call back the heads of the different systems, give them free rein for an anonymous vote, let them name their own leaders, and I’d win.”

“Because they’re too scared to vote against you, let alone run.”

“Because too many of them depend on me to keep their own ranks. Almost no one votes against his own good, and no one votes to impoverish his entire planet. If I fall, more than half of them fall with me.”

Rey remembers talking to the survivors right after Crait. They got the signal out. Their “allies” heard it. But they didn’t come. Letting the Resistance die was a ‘better’ move for them than risking a ship or two each to get them out.

She thinks more, watching Kylo, trying to come up with something that might… help.

“I’d ban slavery.”

He inclines his head. “I can do that. At least as well as the Republic ever managed to. I can’t… won’t put a Stormtrooper on every corner of every planet of every system in the galaxy to make sure that every creature laboring is doing it voluntarily.”

“So, not all that well, at all.”

He half-smiles. “Even where it was ‘illegal’ it was often practiced.” He thinks about this more, seeing how he could use something like this to his advantage. “I wonder, when people, rich, well-connected people defect away from me, because I took their slaves away, will your Resistance welcome them with open arms?”

Rey has the sinking feeling that the answer to that is ‘Yes.’

Then Kylo says something worse, “And when the slaves cheer my name, because unlike your Resistance, I actually freed them, will your leaders shun them? When they flock to the First Order and take up my banner, will your Resistance curse my name? When they don my armor, rally to my symbol, and man my ships, will you kill them?”

That chills her to the bone. And, unfortunately, she has much too long in her chamber, by herself, to think about it.


	14. Ghosts That We Knew (And Didn't)

“I _really_ should have killed you when I had the chance.” Hux is next to him practically before Rey’s gone. “Freeing slaves. What’s next? Stepping down? Just handing the First Order over to your mother?”

Kylo feels the surge of anger, and the desire to strike is so hot his arm twitches. But there would be no point in that. Ghosts cannot feel pain, nor can they be intimidated, and though he certainly enjoyed slapping Hux around like an annoying rag doll, he’s fairly certain the ghost won’t go flying across the room with a satisfying smack.

“Of all of my ghosts, you were the one I never expected.”

“I dare say not. Daddy and Uncle. They were going to haunt you, no?” Hux snorts. “Your daddy and uncle are too busy patting each other on the back for a job well done.”

Kylo glares at Hux.

“All the power in the galaxy, and you use it to get into a desert tramp’s pants. I know for a fact that you know there are pleasure specialists on board this ship.” There were times, when they were younger, before Hux took up with Phasma, when they visited them, together. “If you don’t fancy paying for it, there are probably a hundred women, within the sound of your voice, who would drop to their knees just for a chance to get half a smile from The Supreme Leader.” Kylo knows that is true, too. He has, rarely though, taken advantage of that. “You do not have to destroy everything we worked for to get your jollies.”

He turns to Hux and smiles at him. “The only thing I’ve ever shown any real talent at is disappointing those who vested hope in my actions. I see no reason to stop doing that now.”

“They’ll kill you for this. Mutiny.”

Kylo shrugs. “They can try.”

 

 

* * *

“Any slave to join the First Order will be immediately released from his bonds. At the completion of five years of commendable service, she or he, and any biological children belonging to him or her, will be freed, and granted full status as Citizens of the Order.”

Kylo feels like he should learn the Sycophant’s name, but he’s gotten to the point where it amuses him too much by not knowing.

The Sycophant looks disturbed by Kylo’s latest attempt at governing. “Are you, sure, sir, that you want me to make this proclamation?”

“Not right this second, but eventually, yes. You read General Hurntor’s report, suggesting that, through ‘no fault of the training process,’ that it’s just… ‘not possible to turn humans into perfect, order obeying droids, unless they _want_ to be.’ That there’s only so much one can do with fear and pain, and that should we find people who actually want to be soldiers, we’d have a much easier time with morale.”

The Sycophant winces. “That… seems to be true. That’s the… only explanation… for FN-2187.”

“I’ll give them reasons to join in droves.”

“Their owners… the companies they work for… They’ll complain.” There’s a certain quiver to the Sycophant’s voice, and it makes Kylo think that he, or his family may own slaves.

“For any one that enlists, we’ll offer a replacement droid.”

The Sycophant seems to think that’s a thorny idea. “Ah… And… we’re paying for this, how?” That’s the surface issue. There’s a deeper one, one the Sycophant is trying very hard not to think about. Anyone in the galaxy who can afford a slave can afford a droid. If he owns a slave, it’s not because he wants something to do some sort of labor, it’s because he enjoys owning something that thinks and feels, and, unlike a droid, wants to be free.

“Those planets we’re ‘overseeing,’ they’re quite rich in raw materials, aren’t they?” Kylo asks, keeping the Sycophant thinking on the surface level.

“Yes, sir. Quite.”

“And have you located the storage system for the bank’s records?”

“We have, sir.”

“Excellent. I no longer wish to destroy them. The Raclan bank is going to transfer ownership of all of its assets, and outstanding balances to us.”

“They are, sir?”

“Yes.”

The Sycophant has the same look Hux would get when he was sure Kylo was demanding the impossible. “Ah… Yes… That… Um… How… Sir.”

“Bring them to me. The board, the majority shareholders… I have a feeling that after a face to face conference they’ll find my request reasonable.”

“Yes, sir.” The Sycophant appears to be seriously reconsidering his devotion to Kylo at this point in time, and Kylo’s almost starting to think about respecting him for it.

“I don’t think they’ll want to come.”

Kylo smiles at that, very cold, very hard. “Probably not. Fetch them anyway. Preferably alive and unharmed. If that’s not possible, find their next of kin.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

* * *

Kylo rubs his forehead, and squints at the screen in front of him. He’s been staring at the damn thing for so long he can barely focus on it.

He stands up, stretches, feels weariness tugging at him, gluing his joints.

It’s been too long since he’s been in a good fight. Too long since he’s let himself burn hot, flare the way he was meant to. Too long since his heart pounded and his body thrilled, riding the intense high of life or death combat.

He sighs at that. If Phasma was still here… But she, like far too many of his Stormtroopers, was never found after the Supremacy was destroyed. Rey… Oh, he’d like a good fight with her, but… He’d be too worried about actually hurting her to settle in and enjoy it. He never worried about hurting Phasma, and she never worried about hurting him.

His knights… Those were good fights. Training melees, where all seven of them would go against each other in a full-out, no holds barred, all weapons allowed, until they dropped, combat.

He can still feel the adrenaline rush from those fights.

But those days are gone, too.

“Even you, master of the Knights of Ren, have never been so tested…” That was the ‘last’ test, sacrificing them to Snoke. That was his last proof that he was in fact, loyal. He knelt there, watched, let Snoke kill them, and didn’t even blink. Supposedly, that was the test to show his devotion was ‘complete.’

After all, if they were still around, he could develop other loyalties, or decide that he had power enough for a coup.

Kylo shrugs. Snoke wasn’t wrong to worry about that.

He strides to the windows, and looks out. He’s in the middle of the Ryythu system, and right now, all of those planet spinning around him are his. He knows what Snoke planned to do with them. Enslave them, strip them of everything of value, use the credits to build more weapons and conquer more planets to strip them of everything of value, to use the credits to build more weapons and…

He knows how powerful Snoke was with the Force, and he’s often suspected that whatever sort of creature he was, it involved some level of empathic power. He’s sure, that between those two, that Snoke could feel the pain and fear of the millions, billions of people around him, and _that’s_ why he was doing this.

It had to be something like that, because he certainly wasn’t interested in actually governing anything. The only things he wanted to build were weapons.

Kylo returns to his screen. He’s already put in the orders for more droids. A _lot_ of droids. His Sycophant will worry about paying for them, and the enemies he’s about to make, but at this point he’s got every major droid manufacturer looking at the First Order like they’re a blessing from the Force.

From just this system alone, he hopes to find enough slaves willing to join to recoup the loss of the Supremacy and Captain Canady’s Fulminatrix.

And from beyond the planets circling him… He’ll replace everyone who was on Starkiller. Then he’ll scatter them across every system he controls. Let them work as police and soldiers and… whatever. Rey’s anti-slavery inspectors…

Move them around, and in five years, they, and their families will move to wherever they like, and he’ll seed the ground with new, actually loyal, subjects. Do that for a few cycles, two, maybe three, and he can give Rey her precious Republic. Open the damn thing to a free vote on every planet. He’ll have enough of his men in place to secure his rule.

That also gets a smirk. Palpatine banished the Senate when he felt fully secure in his power. Starting one up to show off his… “Teach that paranoid shit how to rule.”

He ponders that… He’s got a few Stormtroopers left over from the rule of Palpatine. Maybe it’s time for them, too, to retire, as full citizens of the Order, and make room for new recruits… Recruits loyal to him, and what he’s done for them…

He senses a presence, one he doesn’t know, and is reaching for his saber, extending the blade, turning, before he can even think that apparently he’s gotten the fight he wanted.

“I think you’ll find that ineffective.” The glowing figure says, eyeing the saber blade. “Impressive. Is the cracked crystal intentional, or the only red one you could find?”

Kylo’s wary. He doesn’t extinguish his blade. Maybe it can’t attack the ghost, but it might be able to defend himself. He watches the ghost, there’s a familiar feel to him, but he doesn’t know who he is. “I know you?”

The shade smiles. He’s in Jedi garb, with short hair and a long, thin braid trailing down his neck. He’s younger than Kylo is, somewhere between adolescences and young adulthood. He strolls around Kylo, looking him over from top to bottom. Kylo knows that whoever this is, he’s never _seen_ him before. “Padme’s eyes…” He looks around Kylo’s chambers, black on black on black with a few blue lights to keep him from being blind in there. “My taste in furnishings.” And at Kylo. “And clothing. You know there are colors other than black?”

Kylo just eyes the creature moving through his room. “Who are you?”

“My patience, too, it seems.” The shade turns to him. “Come now, you know. All those years you begged me for guidance, bowed at my shrine—“

“Vader! NOW?” Anger, red hot and all-consuming whips through Kylo, and he does strike the ghost.

Anakin just stares at him, as the blade passes through him.  

Kylo whips around, stabbing his desk, slicing clean through it in a series of fast, hard hits.

When he’s done, and staring at Anakin, breathing hard, Anakin says, “My temper. Definitely my temper.”

“Years!” Kylo’s panting. “Decades. I spent _decades_ calling out to you, begging for guidance and approval, and…” He hits the desk a few more times, his fist shattering plasteel. “I murdered my friends. I murdered my _father._ And NOW? You come NOW? In your pretty Jedi robes about to dump some shit about the light side, no doubt. I don’t _need_ you. NOW!” He kicks a chunk of the desk, and sends it flying across the room, hitting the wall so hard it cracks.

“I’ve been blocked from you all of your life. I don’t know how Snoke found you, but once he did, he made sure no voice but his would whisper in your ears.”

“He’s been gone six months.”

Anakin nods. “Like you said, you don’t need me, _now._ ”

“Then why _now?_ ” seethes out of Kylo.

Anakin steps close to Kylo, looking him in the eyes. “Encouragement. It is a fitting thing for the grandchild of a slave to free them.”

That takes Kylo by surprise. “My grandmother?”

“No, child. Not Padme, never her. She was born to rule. Me! My mother. We were chattel.”

Anakin looks around Kylo’s chambers, and out, at the swirling planets, and the fleet of ships. He smiles at them, and then turns back to Kylo. “A strong man has no need of slaves. It’s a weak man who cannot find other men to work with him without a whip in his hand.”

“’The great Skywalker bloodline…’” Kylo quotes, voice trailing off. He can see Snoke in his mind, crowing about the sheer _power_ of the Skywalker line.

Anakin shakes his head. “There was never a great Skywalker bloodline. We have no glorious past. Just a child born in the dirt, to a woman abandoned by whichever man got me on her, working for a slug until she was gambled away, then sold to another man who ‘married’ her. That’s our great bloodline.”

“You were nobody.” And he can feel himself saying it to Rey.

Anakin nods.

“But not to me.”

“No. Not to a great many people, eventually. Not to the Force, either. The Force goes where it’s needed. And when it needed a great power on the dark side of the ledger, Vader rose. And when it needed light, Anakin returned.”

“All is as the Force wills it.”

“I would say, so.” Then Anakin smiles again, but it’s not a happy gesture. It’s a wry one. His face is still young, but his eyes suddenly look old, very old. “But I would say that, otherwise, how could I live with myself?”

And with that, he’s gone.  

And Kylo’s left standing among the wreckage of his desk, feeling confused and empty.

 

 

* * *

“Gentlemen, Ladies.”

It’s taken almost a week, but eventually his men were able to assemble the various powers that be of the Raclan Banking House. Fifty-six men and women, all of them with the easy manners expensive style of the obscenely wealthy.

They know who they are, and appear to be aware of why they are here.

He can feel that a few of them are getting ready to put him in his place. Some of them are going to be ‘brave’ and ‘stand up’ to the ‘whelp.’ They’re going to ‘explain things’ to him. After all, even Snoke needed a bank. Even Snoke was sane enough to not tangle with _them._

Kylo wishes he still had his mask. Snoke was right about the mask. He was playing with it. That said, there was power to the mask. The mind fills in the details of what may be behind the mask, and it always does a scarier job than reality.

Though, the scar helps with that, some. He no longer looks like a pretty child playing at power.

“Thank you for joining me.”

“You mean you dragged us here at blaster point. This is no way to treat the people who—“

It’s painfully easy. Two swift moves with the Force and the speaker is hanging, toes kicking at nothing but air, clutching at his neck, trying to breathe.

“I think we need to spend a moment getting to know each other.” He drops the speaker, who collapses to the floor, gasping. “I am Supreme Leader of the First Order, Kylo Ren. You are about to become my most valued servants.”

They’re too scared to argue, but he can feel a wave of _as soon as I’m off of this ship…_

“I would like to attract your attention to the planet below us.”

It took his computer men a while to find it, but once they did…

“I’d dare say that most of you do not know what it is.” From their vantage it’s just a white hunk of rock, far enough away from its sun to stay frozen from pole to pole, year round. “This is Yberra IX.” He sees the Information Systems Officer go white, eyes widening, hand clenching on the side of the table.

“I see Baronet Jensen understands where we are. Would you inform your colleagues?”

Jensen’s voice quavers as he says. “It’s an ice planet. Data storage for the records of the transactions we do… Data storage is hot. Take a lot of energy. The cold keeps our computers working, and our solar plants keep it running. We store all of the bank’s data there.”

Kylo nods. “It’s your backup center. You have the data on your main database, located in the heart of Rythea. From there, you make hard copies and ship them here bi-monthly. Daily, you transfer electronic data through space. This is where all the copies of everything lives, so that, should something happen to your main database, this location is far, far, away and very secure.”

Everyone around him goes pale and silent. There’s no longer any thoughts of what’s going to happen when they get out of here.

“In those databases are the records of every financial transaction Raclan Bank has ever made. The proof of everything every one of you has ever owned is in there, too. The titles to all of your lands, copies of the contracts you have with every business you work with, the terms of every open loan you have… Everything in the world not currently in your lap or on your back,” he points to the planet, “that’s where the back up of your claim to them lives.”

Fear’s leaching off of everyone in the room.

Kylo looks out at the ice planet. He flicks his fingers, and a swarm of his city killers flood out of the Supremacy. It’s not as impressive as destroying a planet in one hit, but the men and women around him are reasonably intelligent, they should be able to understand what’s happening.

It takes three minutes, and they watch, eyes wide, as Yberra IX breaks apart.

When it’s no more than a million bits of floating rock, Kylo says, “If I understand the chartering documents of your bank, we have a quorum. You are going to vote, now, to transfer ownership of Raclan to The First Order. Each of you is going to sign over 55% of your stock to me, personally.”

“This is robbery!” an ancient crone warbles, jumping up in her anger, before the man next to her can tug her back down.

“I think of it as an involuntary display of exuberant patriotism. One vote, and your main database stays in place. You’ll have time to hide your data, make copies of copies of copies and hide them all over the galaxy. Besides your generous donation of stock to me, you’ll keep the rest of your property.” He almost smiles. “Or vote me down, and in a matter of minutes your main database will be gone, and every one of the trillions of records of who owns what and who _owes_ what will vanish.

“All in favor of transferring ownership of Raclan Bank to the First Order?”

Every hand rises. Kylo smiles at them. He can feel fifty-eight versions of ‘contracts signed under duress aren’t legal’ going through the minds around him. If those thoughts get them to all sign, he’s happy to not disabuse them of it.

“Excellent. My men will draw up the paperwork, make sure it’s all in order, properly registered, and then we’ll return you to your homes. I hope you have a pleasant rest of your day.”

Then he turns, cape swirling about him, and leaves, not even bothering to look back at the stunned faces behind him.   

 

* * *

An hour later, he’s made his anti-slavery proclamation, and sent the first of the major payments to the droid manufacturers. Stock is almost as valuable as raw materials, and shares of the Raclan Bank are considered almost as solid an investment as raw iron.

They are _extremely_ pleased with him.

 

* * *

An hour after that, the transport ships carrying his bankers to their homes suddenly explode. A quick succession of blasts light near space. Kylo watches, eyes impassive. The Sycophant gasps when he sees it.

“The pilots?”

“Automated,” Kylo responds.

 

* * *

Sitting at his desk, a day later, watching the galaxy scramble around, trying to figure out what to do next, Kylo sighs. “An hour or a day?”

“My Lord?” the Sycophant asks.

“Do you think it will be an hour, or a full day before the first assassination attempt takes place?”

He feels the hot rush of electric fear though the Sycophant as he says that. He knows he’s caught. Kylo sighs again. Apparently, the correct answer is not even that long. The Sycophant didn’t sign up to free slaves or murder bankers.

Kylo shakes his head, and then flicks his wrist, snapping the Sycophant’s neck.

He looks at the corpse on his floor. “This is getting monotonous. I could stop a blaster shot aimed at my back, _you_ aren’t going to pull one over on me.” His words cover the shaking rage streaming through him.

But this dead man doesn’t respond to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know Ghost Anakin is supposed to be from Episode 3. I'm calling BS on that. If Ghost Anakin is supposed to be good, light side Anakin, then he's got to be from before he went John Wick on everyone even remotely near his mother when she died. So, in my world, we're looking at Padawan Anakin, and all of his whiny, snarky, Episode II, please Lucas put down the damn script and let someone who knows how to write a line of dialog take over, please, glory.


	15. Conflicted Emotions

This time it’s Rey not expecting company early. She’s strolling around the gardens, yet another ‘sacred’ book in her hands. Kylo’s surprised when he focuses on her, because he can see not just her, but the garden she’s walking in. It’s blurry, soft of focus, almost dream-quality images, but he can see it.

She hears the voice, a second before noticing that he’s fallen into step beside her. “Can you talk?”

She stops walking, looking around, he has to assume there are people in this garden, but he can’t see them.

“I’m out right now, but no one appears to be watching. Are you just walking around your ship?”

He hadn’t thought to contemplate that, but… “No, actually. I think I’m here, with you. I can’t see the people, but… Grass. Crushed stone path. Shrubs… The focus is off, like I’m looking through a fog. We’re… in a garden?”

She nods. “Pretty much. My rooms are a few minutes away.” She holds up the book. “What is this?”

“A book.” He squints, looking hard at the cover, then shakes his head. “Old. I can’t read the glyphs.”

“Meditations on the Nature of the Force.”

His teeth grit. The Force gives him unending misery caused by megalomaniacs trying to run his life practically from his birth. It gives her the ability to read arcane texts. “Sounds fascinating. Giving you pointers for your new Jedi path?”

“No. Not fascinating. No pointers.” She doesn’t so much look at him as feel him, letting her excitement at seeing him again die down enough so that she can feel how and where he is. There’s a barely simmering anger under the thinnest veneer of calm. “You’re not here for that.”

“No.”

“What happened?”

He shakes his head, and she knows he doesn’t want to get into it, yet. Not out here… wherever here is. He does, however, gently brush her hand with the back of his.

There’s a heartbeat where she’s not sure if they’ll actually touch, but she feels the heat of his hand against hers, and then twines her fingers with his, and gives his hand a little squeeze. They both sigh, sinking into the sensation of completion, of touching the person who matters. 

They take a few more steps before Rey says to him, “I like this.” She feels some of the darkness leach away from him. “It’s… I don’t know. Normal. A thing people do.” At least, she’s seen other students do this, walk around the gardens, talking to each other, holding hands.

He laughs at that, though it’s a bitter sound. “Strolling about hand in hand with your invisible, imaginary friend.”

She laughs, just a little, at that. Humoring him. “Just because other people can’t see them, doesn’t make your friends imaginary.”

He closes his eyes for a second and sighs at that. His ‘imaginary’ friend certainly wasn’t. “No. It doesn’t. Did you have some, when you were a child?”

She nods. “You got paid… fed, based on how much, and how good, the junk you brought back was. Ilyn… My friend… He’d help me find the good stuff, tell me that I could get to it that I could squeeze into tiny spaces, jump far enough, or climb high enough, to get the things other people couldn’t. He’d cheer me on when my stomach was rumbling, or the sun too hot, or my throat too dry.”

“That’s how you survived.”

She nods.

“Was he real?”

“I’ve never had any cause to believe so. I mean… Not…” She’s not sure how to touch that, walking hand in hand with a man who’s imaginary friend was a viper feeding him a stream of lies to turn him into a weapon.

Kylo nods at that. “He came to me… For real. A week ago. Decades spent worshipping the great Lord Vader. A pilgrimage to his burial place. Getting that out of Uncle Luke took some real talent.” He’s glaring at the ghost in his mind, rage starting to seethe under his skin. “That should have been a hint I wasn’t talking to him. A ghost would know his final resting place, you’d think.”

“I’d think.” Though she’s answering just to keep him talking, not commenting on any deeply held beliefs on the subject of ghosts and burial sites. More than any of it, she’s interested that it’s been a week since Vader appeared and he’s just here, now. Something else happened.

“I built my own mask, for him. I built my saber, for him. I scoured the galaxy looking for a red Kyber crystal. And… nothing. Never good enough. Never smart enough. Better than everyone around me but not able to meet his footsteps.” Decades of resentment are bubbling through him. All the times he’s wanted to yell or hit something gurgling under his skin.

“Because it wasn’t him.” Though she wonders if attempting to comfort someone for not being _Vader_ is a good thing or not.

“And then he’s just, there. With his floppy hair and _Jedi”_ it’s a curse slipping between his lips, “robes. The mask, the cloak, the voice, the _presence._ None of it. And, not like it was a case of taking off the mask and being disappointed by the man behind it. There wasn’t a man to be disappointed by.”

“Machine… They say he was more machine than man.”

“Vader may have been. Anakin, or… whoever, was younger than you. A boy staring at me, not a man.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she squeezes his hand again, and then nods at a cottage. “This one is mine.”

She lays her hand on a sliding glass door, and it slips aside, allowing her entry. She has a small space, one main room, with low table and pillow seats, a stove, cooler, and sink on the one side, her bed on the other. There are two doors on the far wall, he assumes one has to go to the bath, and the other is likely a closet.

The walls are glass, offering her views of the garden. Her floor has a soft, plushy carpet. The bed is low to the ground, covered with soft blankets and pillows. Like the bed, the table is low to the floor, with four pillows surrounding it. She’s got books scattered around. It’s maybe five meters per side and he’s got the feeling that it’s the largest, safest, and most luxurious place she’s ever lived.

It’s also just about the size of his private office, half the size of his bedroom. And his mother’s family would have considered it barely adequate for servant’s quarters.

Once inside, she says, “Opaque,” and the walls of her room go solid gray. “Okay, we’re fully alone.”

He looks around. Unlike the garden, his vision is sharp here. He can make out details like the diamond pattern on her carpet, and the green glass vase on the table with a long, turquoise flower in it. It’s softer, more comfortable than anything on the Supremacy. Everything around him is gentle pastel colors or shades of gray and tan. The only thing in here covered in black is him.

It’s hers. Very, very _hers._

She’s not exactly sure what to do with him now that he’s in here. Entertaining wasn’t exactly a common occurrence on Jakku, and it especially wasn’t one for her. She’s looking from him to her rudimentary kitchen, a sense of _now what_ echoing off of her.

“Do you want a drink?” she asks, moving toward her stove. “I can—“

He looks around one more time. The walls are solid gray. It’s just him and her and… And he feels everything around him start to crumble. “Can we… just sit? And…”

And his heart is open and she can feel how badly he needs someone to just _touch_ him. Not sexual, not sensual, just another human being who’s willing to hold him for a few minutes.

She sits on her bed, scooting back, so her back is against the headrest, and then holds out an arm to him.

Kylo is not a small man, but he curls up against her, head on her shoulder. Part of him wants to run off and break things, batter them, rip them apart with his bare hands. Part of him knows that never makes anything better, not for more than a moment at a time. Part of him wants to run away, seek her out, leave everything behind, go hide, together. Flee all of this and just… be.

“Would you?” she asks as the idea hits. Her lips brush his forehead as she asks.

For a heartbeat he thrills at the idea of it. Then reality crashes down on him. “I’m the most recognized man in the galaxy. Where could I hide?”

Rey gives him a gentle squeeze. They can both feel that she knows a place.

“And how would you get us there?” he asks, knowing the answer. And she does, too. He doesn’t look up at her as he says, “Do you think he’d be kind enough to kill me before he ripped my limbs off, for old time’s sake?”

“He took me to you.”

Kylo blinks. He hadn’t known that. He does look up at her at that. He has a difficult time imagining that she explained to Chewie that she was going to him, and Chewie then chose to help her with that. “He…”

Her expression is soft. “You’re the son of his dearest loves. If I could get you back… No, I don’t expect warm family dinners or happy embraces, but—“ She’s about to say, ‘He doesn’t hate Ben, he hates Kylo,’ and chokes on it.

Kylo nods, slowly, knowing what she didn’t say.

Kylo and Ben, and as long as they can pretend their precious, pure, _light side_ Ben is still alive somewhere inside of him…

Maybe he won’t be forgiven, not welcome, but he won’t be damned either.

Ben, precious little Ben, light side Ben, bundle of joy, promise of a rebalanced Force, scion of the most powerful Jedi family left in the galaxy _and_ prince, heir apparent, to the woman who all but single-handedly won the Rebellion. He spits it out, “Ben. He’d forgive _Ben._ ”

He leaps up, pacing, fast and agitated around her room. “I _hate_ this! I hate feeling this way. I hate that _everything_ has always been a lie. There never was a _fucking Ben!_ They’ve been trying to shove me into a Ben-shaped fantasy my entire life.

“Ben was going to usher in a new age of the Force. Ben would stand by his Uncle’s side, and together they’d start a new Jedi. The pure, strong, _light_ Skywalkers… There never was any purebred Force using bloodline… I hate… He was a fucking _nobody_ from a desert! A slave. That’s why he popped up, to tell me freeing slaves is a good thing.” He notices he’s holding one of his fingers, hard, pulling on it, and he realizes that if he doesn’t let go, he’s going to break it, just so that he can feel _something, anything_ other than this. He forces himself to let it go, but he wants to break something, so much.

“I feel like I’m a _toy._ Like the Force just plays with me for kicks. All is as the Force wills it. Great!” His voice is savage. It’s only the fact that he’s here, in her space, that’s keeping him from physically lashing out. “Why _this?_ Why… Why any of it? Why him? Why you?”

He turns to her books, picking one up, and throwing it, hard, against the wall. It hits with a dull thud. “There’s no answers in there.”

He bites his lip, hard. “This was supposed to be _over._ I am the Supreme Leader of the First Order, men breathe by my will, I can destroy planets at a whim, but it’s always there. Everyone around me has always been disappointed. I’m too dark or too light or too rash or not rash enough. Kylo has never, ever, no matter what he does, been good enough.”

He crashes onto her bed, looking up at her, eyes wide and intense. “I killed another second-in-command today. This one worshipped me. Or the idea of me. Before he had to actually do my bidding, he idolized me. But then I start to try and lead this fucking Order and… One of the bankers paid him off. I mention they’re going to try to kill me, and I can feel it, he was the one who was supposed to deliver the blow. I’m getting a droid next. I can’t fucking disappoint that.”

“Kylo,” she opens her arms again. “Come here.”

He’s stiffer this time, less able to just melt into her. She holds him close, and kisses the top of his head. “Be you, whatever that is, and you won’t disappoint me.”

He laughs at that, voice so sharp. He wants to cut something. Himself, her, break everything around them, shatter steel and plastic and glass, grind the shards into both of their skins, make them _feel._ Make her understand, he’s never, ever going to be good enough.

But there’s enough of him that wants to be here, that needs her and being with her and that knows, that _this_ is the sort of thing he can’t give into. Not here. Not with her. He stops himself, and focuses all of the rage into his words. “Of course I will. As soon as you notice I can’t be turned… Once you really feel that Ben isn’t real… You’ll turn away, too. I’m not… I’m not going to give this up. I need this. I won’t leave it behind to become a monk on a distant planet teaching children to meditate. I’m not going to hide my face and seek penance for… Everything. For existing. There’s no end to this story where we run off and re-write the wisdom of the Force.”

She strokes his face, staring him in the eyes. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He blinks hard at that, staring at her back at her, really seeing her for the first time since he started to let it out. “Okay?” He’s been so wrapped in his own pain, he hasn’t bothered to even try and feel how she’s responding to it.

“Okay.” She nods. He blinks again, utterly shocked, disarmed that she’s… scared, yes. Confused, definitely. But this is real, too. She’s settled on this. “You… be you. And I’ll abide it or not as I can. I’ll be me, and you’ll do what you have to about that. And maybe I win or maybe you do, but we just… do.”

He’s looking at her like he’s afraid she’s laying a trap for him, and she’s feeling what she just said, getting a better sense of it.

She nods again, sure this is part of the path. “Dark rises and light to meet it? Is that what he said?”

He rolls his eyes, suddenly very tired. “Some poncey overbearing pronouncement like that.”

“So, be dark, or as dark as you want to be… Did you say you were freeing slaves?”

He can feel that’s a key to what she’s saying. He’s done something that she thinks is good, and it’s balancing out a lot of the bad. He nods, slow, weary. “It should be all over the galaxy in a matter of days. I’m having it proclaimed in any system we control and any planet friendly to us. Any slave who escapes and enlists in the First Order, after five years’ service, is free, their children, too, and all of them become full citizens of the Order.”

She doesn’t flinch, but her eye twitches and he feels what’s behind it. His eyes roll, and he pulls away from her. “So much for not disappointed. That lasted, what, 75 seconds?”

She leans into him, taking his hand in hers. “Stop it, I’m just thinking.”

He shakes her off. “Thinking that you wanted me to make a grand proclamation freeing them all tomorrow, and getting nothing out of it for myself.”

“Well…” She knows she can’t lie to him; he’ll know. “Yes.”

“My Sycophant tries to kill me for being too light, and you’re appalled I’m not light enough.”

“I’m not appalled.” And taking the time to feel, he knows that’s true. “It’s just… not what I’d do.”

“It never is.” And never was, and he’s had this argument so many times with so many people and…

“No,” Rey says. And then she leans forward and kisses him, hard. He’s utterly stunned for the first few seconds, speaking of things _he_ wouldn’t have done…

But it feels good, right.

And it’s probably not making things worse. Or if it is, it’s making it worse in a direction she wants to go.

And one he does, too.  

As soon as he realizes it’s real, that this is truly happening, that she’s kneeling in front of him, pressing her lips to his, wrapping her arms around him, he’s clutching at her, pulling her close.

He’s hot. Skin, lips, there’s so much _heat_ pouring off of him. Both in terms of physical temperature, and waves of emotion, all of them hot, active, physical get up, run around, _do stuff_ emotions.

He’s kissing her hard, fast, lips pressing against hers, sucking, almost biting.

Devoured.

That’s the word that goes with this feeling.

He’s _devouring_ her. The starving man allowed to taste the first dish in a table full of glorious food.

And it is _not_ the dream. He was almost passive in the dream, at least at first, but not here, not now. He’s pulling off his gloves, kissing her, pressing into her, knowing she’s strong enough to bare his weight while he strips black leather from his skin.

Then his hands are free, and one of them tangles in her hair, and the other cups her butt, pulling her flush to him.

And he’s hard. Yes, hard of shaft. There’s nothing soft or silly about it now. It’s pressed against her hip and belly, and he’s rocking against her, groaning at the feel of her body on his. But that’s just one angle of hard. His body is hard. There’s no give in him. No gentle curves or soft, fleshy bits. His emotions are hard. A thousand shards are whirling around and through him, though they’re focusing down. Pain, anger, confusion, they’re starting to strip away, forgotten in the moment of touch.

He groans again, a jagged sound. Like tangles of razor wire being pulled out of him.

She tangles her hand in his hair, pulling his head back, and he gasps at the tug, and the feel of her lips, teeth, against his lip, chin, jaw, and throat.

He shifts his hands, both of them under her ass, and pulls her up, so they’re face to face, lip to lip, and then he falls back, letting the bed catch them, letting her land on his chest, and then he’s flipped them, pinned her under his body.

Her legs wrap around his hips, without any thought on her part. They just… _belong_ there.

On top, he can use his arms and legs for leverage, and he really rock back and forth, rub against her, dragging his body over hers, lips touching hers on each pass, lighting her skin with thousands of delicious tingles.

“God Kylo, get off!”

He jerks at her voice, startled, pulling back, fast, afraid she’s saying no, or stopping, but a second later she’s up, and tugging at his tunic. “How do you get this damn thing off?”

A wide smile darts across his face, and he beams at her. “Slowly.” He shows her how to use the hooks and eyes and with him working the top, and her working the bottom, he’s soon free of his tunic.

His shirt follows a second later. He pulls it over his head and tosses it aside.

She starts to laugh. “So I was right, you just throw it off.”

He yanks her close again, kissing her hard, before saying to her, lip to lip. “I do when you’re going to touch me.” His hands fall to her waist, and he slips back a bit, before looking down, at her belt. He lays a finger on it, and then looks up to her eyes.

She nods at him, and he gets it unbuckled fast. Her tunic goes quickly too. Her sleeves…

“Do they wind up, or…” He won’t admit it, but he’s been wondering how they stay up for a while now. He feels like they should have come off during the fight if they’d just been wraps, but…

She untucks the top of the band, and then unwraps it from around her arms. A quick tug pulls it from the bracer, and then two buckles and the bracer is off, too.

He grabs the end of the other one, pulling fast, getting tangled in the long stretch of fabric, and she’s pulling off her undershirt, getting her head and arm free, and as soon as he’s done, she tosses her shirt aside, too.

“Boots,” she says, suddenly aware of just how much clothing both of them wear. Too damn much. They should be naked. They should be naked a whole lot. The entirety of the universe would be better off if they spent a _lot_ of time naked, and together. She’s tugging off her boots, then a thought crosses her mind, so she lifts her foot and wiggles her tan and gray sock clad food at him.

“See. Everyone’s got them.”

He laughs a little at that. Then louder, harder. It’s so… fucking silly. All of it. Bodies and feeling and… And she’s stretching out her leg, and he can see the curve of her calf, and the line of her foot, and he just wants to kiss it, and stroke it, and rub all of himself all over her and… He’s yanking off his boots and socks, and then dives back to her.

This time skin meets skin, chest to chest, as they press into another kiss, and Rey hisses at the feel of it. Hard. He’s still hard, but smooth, and hot… Her skin sings at it, purring, begging her for more of his touch.

He’s kissing her neck and shoulder and bending, trailing his lips down her chest, laying kisses over her breast, and then pulling back, breathing hard, hands shaking as he reaches out to stroke them. “So beautiful.”

She smiles at that, tracing her hands over his shoulders and arms, touching his hands on her, and stroking his chest.

She gasps, pleased, as his thumb finds her nipple, stroking over it, making it rise hard, begging for more touch.

He bends again, tongue darting out, pink on pink, and she gasps again, more at the sight than the feel of it.

He’s looking up at her, and then scoots a little bit further back, his eyes finding hers, holding her gaze. She can feel the intensity, the passion, the want pouring through him. And feeling it, she rises to it, her own desire spiking at his.

He’s watching her, and she’s undoing her pants, pushing them down, baring herself.

He’s breathing hard, heart beating fast, body zinging with the electricity of this moment. Of watching her peel her clothing off and crush back up against him, and more kisses, so many kisses, and skin, all of her skin, against his chest, and under his lips and hands and…

He kneels back, butt on his heels to just look at her. To take a moment and _see_ someone who’s happy to be here with him, to touch _him,_ to be touched by _him._

A worm of a question wriggles into his mind, and it’s out of his mouth before he can stop it. “Have you done this before?” His voice is low, and part of him hates that he’s asked. Part of him wants to know if… if this has ever been a source of pleasure for her. If she has good memories of a man’s touch.

And he doesn’t know if that’d be a relief or not.

She shakes her head, and says, “Not like this.” She reaches out, laying her hand against his chest. “Have you…” she lets it trail off.

“Yes.” They’re both looking at her hand against his chest. He gently traces his fingers over hers, remembering doing this in the pool. “But I do not know if anyone who ever touched me before touched _me._ ”

She doesn’t understand that. She can feel it’s important to him, and the distinction matters, but it’s not immediately obvious to her what he means.

“Master of the Knights of Ren. Supreme Leader of the First Order. They’ve sought to touch power.”

“Supreme Leader, so… since…?”

He’s intrigued by the way she’s watching him. “That bothers you.”

There’s no point in lying. He’d know, and she’d just feel foolish if she tried. “Yes.”

“I was jealous of the Porg.”

She laughs a little at that. He offers her a fast smile. Then she feels the thought that goes with it. The Porg made him jealous, until he knew what it was. Her memories of Jakku made him _angry._ Her eyes go wide, and she swallows hard.

“Jakku.” Again, it’s not a question, and again, there’s no point in lying.

“Yes. It took… effort.”

“How… You don’t have…” She’s watching his face, searching. Starkiller is gone. He has no Death Star. He came up with something, though. “Didn’t…”

He nods. “Rage is motivating.”

“And you raged for me?”

“Yes.”

“You destroyed an entire planet because… I…” he realizes she’s never named it. Never said the word. Never told anyone, and if he hadn’t been able to feel her thoughts, her past would have been a secret buried in a desert. His breath holds for a moment, waiting to see what she does. “had a bad time there?”

“No. Not because you… had a bad time… When we met, you called me a monster with a mask. You were angry. A little afraid, but mostly angry. I look the mask off and… there was a second… I felt it, you were relieved.”

“You weren’t a monster.”

He flicks an eyebrow at that. Pleased to hear it, but not exactly believing it. “Maybe. Whatever I am or was, when you saw me you were angry, a little scared, but mostly angry. When you saw me without a shirt, you were disgusted. I felt it, and thought it was just me, or the scars. The second time, I knew it wasn’t me.

“The monster didn’t disgust you. The man did. Because of what other men did. And now, they’ll never do it, or anything else, ever again.”

She swallows, hard, feeling the enormity of that.

“It pleases you.”

Again it’s not a question, and again, there’s no point to her trying to lie. He’ll feel it before it gets past her lips. “Yes. I wouldn’t have thought to do it. And if you’d have asked I would have said no. But I can feel it, a little spark of joy at the idea.”

His eyes search hers, and his sense of her whirls through a storm of conflicted emotions. “And that makes you ashamed, too.”

“Of course. There weren’t a lot of people on Jakku, but… There had to be thousands—“

“Hundreds.”

“It doesn’t matter, if there was one, and we know there was _one_ , who’d never done me any harm, then… No. I shouldn’t be pleased by this.”

“But you are.” He wants to smile, wants to share his joy at this, at managing to _finally_ do something that made someone who mattered happy, but he can feel she’s not pleased by being happy about this.

“I am.” She remembers Luke talking about how he killed a million people, most of them having no choice, no control over what they were doing and where they were. “None of us are all light, or all dark.”

“No.” He looks down at himself. No shirt, loose pants, bare feet. He looks at her, naked, skin pink and flushed, lips wet, parted, about to kiss him again. “I’m glad this doesn’t bring back bad memories, anymore.”

“It…” she can feel his skin, the heat of his body, the rise and fall of his chest, and the thrum of his heart, steady and calm under her hand. “You don’t bring back bad memories.”

“Conflicted emotions.”

She nods.

He can feel it, there’s conflict there, but none of those emotions are telling her to stop. He’s reaching for her, hand leading the way, looking to stroke her face, and then she’s gone.

He doesn’t even try to control the rage. Ten minutes later, his janitorial droid has a mess to clean up, and The Supreme Leader of the First Order is in need of a new bed, desk, dresser, bath, and a med tech droid to stitch up the small cuts all over his body from sharp-edged flying debris, and to set and heal the ten broken bones in his hands.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, yes, I'm evil. I know I'm evil, and I've been evil all my life. That said, if this is your first Keryl Raist story, let it be known that I may give you blue balls, but when I take you over the line, I'll take you *over* the line. 
> 
> And yes, we'll get there. 
> 
> And it *will* be worth the wait. :)


	16. In The Gray

She was watching him. His eyes were dark, heady with emotion and desire, and he was leaning toward her, his fingers coming up to caress her face.

Her eyes slipped shut, and she leaned into him, feeling the heat of his fingertips, awaiting the second when they’d make contact.

Waiting.

Rey’s eyes spring open and she looks around. Kylo’s nowhere.

She’s breathing hard as she jumps up, yelling, “BRING HIM BACK!”

She can’t feel him, can’t sense him. She storms around her room, kicking at… His clothing is still here. Everything he wasn’t wearing is still in her room. She picks up his shirt, holding it close, smelling him, trying to call him back.

The image won’t form. The Force bond slide, where she pictures him, clear and steady in her mind, and that image shifts from a phantom to real… It just _doesn’t._

She can see him, staring at her, longing, touching, kissing, his body hot and hard and wanting and so, so ready, so, past whatever, so them, now and…

“BRING HIM BACK!”

But screaming into her room doesn’t bring Kylo, and it does bring a few of the other students, who are knocking on her door, asking if she’s okay.

Eventually, she pulls on her clothing, answers the door, and lets the other students know that she’s fine. Just dreaming.

They look at her, some with pity, others wary. They nod. They turn away.

And they leave her, alone, in a small room, with most of a suit of black clothing, but not the man who wears it.

 

 

* * *

To say that Rey is _irritable_ the next morning is not an exaggeration.

To say that a nearly constant stream of invective-filled muttering is going along with her daily walk, is also, not by any stretch, an exaggeration, either. She’s not even trying to pretend she’s reading today’s book.

It’s her third circle around the campus when she finally mutters, “There’s finally a man I want to touch, and you dangle him naked in front of me every chance you get and then yank him away! WHY?”

And on that turn it hits her… Conflict… Doubt… The nagging wonder of what/how she’d react to another person’s touch. The fear that she might get into it and find her nightmares come real again.

All of that’s dead.

She _wants this._ Wants him. No fear, no doubt, no hesitation.

Everything else about them… There’s confusion there, worry, and the horrible fear that she’s going the wrong way, that… That if she’s supposed to be about the light she can’t be… giving comfort to the dark, but…

She _wants_ it. She wants someone who looks at her like she’s the answer to everything, even if he knows she isn’t. And he does know. She does, too.

But, at least, together, there surcease, and pause, and a few moments of peace… and passion.

She reaches for her disk. The dark and light are, in the main, solid, inviolate, but the edge, that twirls into the other side. They blend into each other, forming the disk of gray in the center.

She touches it, feeling that sweet spot where black and white cease to be distinct colors.

If they work together… Maybe she curbs his black, and maybe he darkens her light, but they can live, or at least be together, in the gray.

That feels… good, but not _right._ Like she’s close to _right_. There’s something important there, and she can almost touch it. Like she’s got the shape of an idea, but not the details.

She gently squeezes her token, knowing the details will come.

And with them, Kylo.

 

 

* * *

Chewie’s coming tomorrow to pick her up and take her to the wedding, and Rey wants the token closer. She keeps it tucked into a pocket on her undershirt, but she wants it on her skin.

She doesn’t really know the other students at the university, but she’s eaten with them, and occasionally spent a minute or two chatting with them as she wanders.

One of them, a sculptor, probably knows how to do what she needs. After all, the man who casts statues out of bronze and iron can probably figure out how to drill a little hole in her token, so she can put it on a string and wear it around her neck.

He’s out on the yard, in the grass, standing in front of a wax figure. Right now, he’s carving it, shaping it from an indistinct lump into a Corellian Fire Lily. She half hopes that he stops where he is in the process, three of six petals and a partial stem projecting out of the wax.

“Rey?” He’s curious as to what brings her over. She’ll smile at him at mealtime, and they may pass a few words waiting in line to pick out a drink or plate of stew, but they’ve never had a real conversation, and she’s never sought him out.

“Can I ask a favor?”

“You can always ask. I may not be in a position to deliver, but, asking’s free.”

She half smiles at that, and shows him the disk.

His eyes light up. “Oh, I haven’t seen one of these in years! May I?” He reaches out his hand, wanting to touch. She gives the disk over and he nods. “Oh… This one’s got a sweet feel to it. If I only had a Junjan bowl…”

“I don’t know what that is.”

Now he’s looking at her, amazed. “You don’t know what this is?”

“It’s… a friend gave it to me, and… I was hoping you could put a small hole in it so I could wear it around my neck.”

He looks like that idea is causing him physical pain. “Rey… This is a Junjan disk. And it’s a _really_ nice one. It’s got a sweet balance. I’d no sooner put a hole in this than piss on a watercolor... while it’s wet.”

“What’s Junjan?”

He smiles, twisting the disk between his fingers. “It’s a kids’ game. You make disks like this one, and a bowl.” He holds his arms out in front of him, forming a circle with them. “About this big.” He crouches down, and flicks the disk. It spins in a perfect circle, twirling like a top on the flat box where he keeps his sculpting tools. “You spin them in the bowl, and knock the other disks out. Whoever’s disk spins the longest wins.”

“Oh.” Rey doesn’t say it, but she’s sure that this piece, of this game… Of course that’s what it is and how it works.

“Look. I’d hate to mess with the balance on this, but if you give me a few minutes, I can rig up a holder for it. A few pieces of wire, wrap them around, and you’ll be able to wear it around your neck. And… Bend the metal a little, and you can slip it out to play a game…” He winks. “You know, if a hot game were to pop up.”

She smiles at that. “Thank you.”

 

 

* * *

“And are you getting ready to leave us?” Orlac asks.

Rey looks up from one of her books, startled to see him. “How…”

“You’ve tidied your rooms. Chewie will be here, soon.”

Rey nods. She feels wary about it, unsure if she should say, but… In an hour the Falcon will be here, and the mystery will be done.

“Did you find what you needed?” Orlac sits next to her on the lawn.

She sighs. “I don’t know.”

He leans back, hands in the grass, feet stretched out in front of him. “Do you know what you need to learn, now?”

“I’m getting a better feel for it, yes.”

He nods, reaches into his vest, and pulls out a small data pad. “Did Chewie tell you my father cut me off?”

She nods, wondering where he’s going with this, and what’s on that pad.

Orlac continues to look around his university. “During the reign of Palpatine, there were no places like this. One of the first things he did was send Stormtroopers in to burn the books that told history in a way he didn’t like. He shut down schools that might teach thoughts he didn’t approve of. Anything with a connection to the Jedi or the Republic was destroyed. Unapproved art… unapproved artists… they were destroyed.” He hands her the pad. “Look around you Rey, does this look like the sort of place an art teacher can afford to run?”

She hadn’t thought about that. “Do your students pay?”

“Some of them. Some just come. And, of course, I do sell my creations, but that’s the sort of money that puts food on the table, and a roof over one’s head, not keeps a university running. The Calrissian Mining Corporation, through a multitude of shell companies, pays for this. When the First Order began to win battles, my father looked at me, saw what I liked, and came up with a plan. No matter who won, or who ruled, there had to be a place where knowledge lived. A place where ideas were safe. And part of keeping ideas safe meant they couldn’t belong to one faction or the other.

“I’ve played the dilettante for five years. There are thousands of books in my library.” He touches the pad between her fingers. “And copies of millions more on the electronic databases I've stashed around the galaxy.” His eyes find hers. “Use them well.”

She swallows, hard, staring at the pad. This is wealth beyond any measure she could imagine. In her hands. “I…”

He shakes his head. “I pay for what I take. You added some amazing books to my digital library, more than worth what’s on this disk.”

Rey’s eyes go wide. “You…” she’s about to whack him with her quarterstaff. But he grabs the end of it, leaning his weight into it, keeping it on the ground.

“A word of advice. Don’t ever use a lockbox if you don’t control the lock.” He nods to her pack. “They’re perfectly unharmed. I just scanned them, added them to the digital archives, and now,” he taps her pad, “You’ve got backups.” He taps the pad again. “Keep the secret. Don’t _ever_ let anyone see this.”

She nods. Then she says, “But… you let anyone come here.”

“I do. I let a chosen few know what’s really here, and everyone else knows about the art school and public library. Not everyone is someone I’d like to associate with, but, who knows, maybe a bit of art and beauty may help to turn someone in the direction of the light? And if it doesn’t… Well, most of them bring books, and I make copies when they aren’t looking. And at least while they’re here, they aren’t off getting into mischief. I feel like we’re better off with people painting and writing about bloody battles than fighting them.”

“Oh. Do you want to… I don’t know… See Chewie, or Leia, or…”

He smiles, sadly. “They don’t know what happened, or why, and for my safety, and the safety of everything here, I can’t see them. No family reunions for us. And you _cannot_ let them see that pad. I don’t care how useful it’d be for the Resistance to have, if anyone let’s slip where it came from, this university is dead.”

“Why give it to me, then…”

Orlac shakes his head. “I don’t know. It feels right. Feels… like you’re on a similar path. Like… you’re working to preserve something that needs to be kept alive, no matter who’s in power.”

Rey gives him an awkward hug. “Thank you.”

“When you come back, bring me more books.”

She smiles at that.   

 

* * *

Leaving Careena, she supposes she knows more.

And maybe she has some ideas for what comes next.

But for the most part… It feels like lost time. Like moments of clear, useful, solid progress scattered through a maze of empty words and endless loops of steps.

Once she’s back on board the Falcon, Chewie says to her: _Where next?_

Rey shrugs. “I don’t know. Finn’s wedding. That’s… A week away?”

Chewie nods and adds: _And four days from here._

“So… What are you doing?”

_Picking up Leia. Delivering her to a meeting. Making sure she’s secure._

“Sounds good. Want some extra muscle?”

Chewie’s response makes her laugh.

“Okay, you’ve got all the muscle you need. How about someone to keep the Falcon warmed up and ready to go in case we need to get out fast?” 

Chewie nods at that.

“How long until we get Leia?”

_Two days._

“Then let’s go.”

 

* * *

Sitting in the gunning tower, Rey watches the galaxy around her. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to this. There’s just so much… everything. A billion miles, more, of black broken only by pinpricks of light.

She touches the disk around her throat, the swirl of black and white. Then she takes it off, looking at it.

Looking at it easily. She’s surrounded by nothing but black. Eons of black. But it’s not dark. She can see the swirl clearly. If she were to go into her quarters, and turn off the lights, she’d be in the black, too. But that black keeps her from seeing, and this black… It just makes the stars more visible.

They’re trying to stick to deep space, avoid systems, but if there were to be a planet, or big enough asteroid, they’d cast a shadow, and then she’d be stuck in dark so black the disk would dim.

But she’d still be able to see the stars.

And in a heartbeat, she feels Kylo. Looking up, she sees him. And suddenly she knows the details of the shape she was fumbling with before.

“What if neither of us is supposed to win?” Rey asks. “All darkness, and everything dies. And the only way to get all light is for nothing to be there.”

Kylo followed her darkness comment, but the light has him raising an eyebrow.

She’s looking excited at this idea, glad to share it. “Shadows. Darkness is the absence of light. The only way to get a place with all light is for there to be nothing there. If there’s anything there, it’ll cast a shadow, create the dark.”

She reaches for him, putting the disk in his hand, hurrying, afraid the Force will yank him away, as she says, “You can’t live without light, and if you’re alive you’ll cast a shadow.”

He looks at the disk for a second, but he’s more interested in looking at her. He’s been trying to get back for days now, and… _this_ is not what he was hoping for when he saw her again.

He loops the disk around his own neck, and leans in for a kiss.

Message delivered, she feels free to move onto other things. She melts into him, arms wrapping around his shoulders, lips meeting his, warm and expressive. She’s been waiting for this moment, too.

His hands span her back, pulling her closer to him, and she’s wrapping her legs around his hips, grinding into him, lips and tongues dancing, encouraging the heat between them.

Then there’s a sound of something crashing, clattering, followed by emphatic Wookie cursing.

Kylo goes dead still, and Rey does, too.

“You heard that?” she asks.

He’s looking around, able to really see where she is. “You’re in the Falcon.”

She nods.

“Traveling.”

“Yes.”

He’s looking at her perch in the gunner’s chair. “I…” she can feel the wash of memories, ranging from bittersweet to heartrending all tearing through Kylo. “Can’t…” And then he’s gone.

She can still feel the heat of his body, and feel a memory. Him, as a young child, sitting in this chair, on Han’s lap, pretending to shoot the guns. The voice is so clear, so real, so _present_ she almost feels like she’s there. “When you get older, I’ll teach you how to fly this baby. How to shoot her. She may look like a hunk of junk, but this ship… She’ll see you through the hardest times you can imagine, and keep ‘ya flying.”

Her fingers caress over the gunner’s triggers. And she knows, just _knows_ that he never did learn to fly this ship, or shoot these guns.

“Han was Han about it…” Luke had said that. And she suddenly gets that Jedi training probably didn’t involve visits home, spending time with his parents, learning how to do things like fly a hunk of junk, smuggling goods that the Republic didn’t need to know about, or getting into hot firefights with rival factions trying to set up their own governments.

Han was _Han_ about it because it meant giving up his son, and any future of them, together.

 

 

* * *

She climbs out of the gunner’s tower, sees Chewie fuming at a few Porgs. Waldo and his friends have apparently decided to get into the spare power couplings.

Rey’s not touching that. She’s not sure why Chewie keeps them around, other than, well, they are awfully cute, and maybe, flying around in this thing on his own, he gets lonely.

Or… oh… They had omelets for dinner. She tries not to wince too hard at that thought. They were delicious.

She nods in his direction, and says, “I’m going to turn in.”

He waves an absent hand at her, growls at the Porgs, and very gently lifts another egg out of the power couplings and places it in a box lined with some sort of felt.

 

* * *

In her own chamber… It used to be Han’s, but, obviously, it’s not like he needs it anymore.

And Chewie, after decades in the Falcon, his own section is the way he likes it, tailored to his needs. He wasn’t going to move to “the Captain’s Quarters.” (Though Rey thinks that part of it is that moving quarters means acknowledging that Han’s never coming back.)

Maybe one day, Chewie will be able to do that, but not yet.

She opens the hatch and climbs down. It’s a small space, room for a berth, a few storage boxes under the berth, pegs on the far wall to hang clothing, and a line of shelves about a quarter meter from the ceiling. She took down the picture of the pretty woman in the tight dress, and put her books on the shelves, but that’s pretty much it in the way of making it _her_ space.

She flicks off the light. Most of the time she’s in here, she’s sleeping. Most of the time it’s just a cradle of dark.

And it’s here, from black, from no distinct edges, no shapes, no memories, she seeks Kylo out. She’s not sure if he’ll be here, or if she’ll go there, but if he’s here, then here will just be dark.

She blinks a few times and… His rooms. Probably. She’s almost wondering if she moved. Everything is black. Even his bed is black. She didn’t know black sheets and blankets were a thing, but apparently they are.

He’s lying on his side, curled into himself, and not, from the looks of it, particularly exuberant to see her.

“I don’t…” The last thing on his mind it hot, sweaty grinding and the rush of physical pleasure.

She shakes her head. “I’m not here for that.” Though she does gently tug his cloak off. Then she takes a moment to figure out how to curl up behind him. It doesn’t seem like it should be difficult, but figuring out where her arms and elbows go takes a moment, but eventually, she has them all located comfortably.

Her right arm loops around his waist, her hand on his chest, and she kisses between his shoulder blades.

“This. For right now, just this.”

He nods and squeezes her hand, and for several long minutes they’re both quiet. She’s almost thinking he might be bordering on asleep, but eventually he says, “I watched him leave in that damned hunk of junk more times than I can count, but I only got to ride in it once. The trip to Luke’s Academy.”

She nuzzles the nape of his neck and gives him a little hug, trying to keep him talking, but not trying to force it.

“I didn’t want to go. Uncle Lando would tell me stories of smuggling and firefights and… I wanted to be a smuggler. I wanted a fast ship and a crew of pirates, and hot blasters, and…” He snorts a self-depreciating laugh, “a really awesome cloak. Like Lando had.”

She smiles against his back. “You got the cloak.”

She feels him nod. She can see the edges and the shape of the memory. Han and Leia arguing, loudly, about him. Kylo adds the details, “She always knew the dark was there. Didn’t want it to be. Was terrified of it. But she always knew it. He thought that… Maybe if I got to run around more and shoot things I’d just sort of work it out. That boys were wild, and sometimes… destructive. He used to blow things up for kicks, and steal things, and lie to people, and… he turned out okay.”

“Did he ever say that to you?”

“Yeah. I’d…” he sighs… “I went through a lot of tutors and nannies. One of them… I don’t remember his name, but he wanted me to do math, and I was bad at it, and Vader told me that I didn’t need to do math, that math was for accountants, not Lords, and… I choked him until he passed out and then I ran away and hid for six hours.

“I was in trouble for hurting the tutor, more trouble because they panicked when they couldn’t find me, but…” She has the sense he wants to say Dad, but he doesn’t. “he said we’d spend some more time together. He’d show me why I needed to know math. Can’t run a deal well without math, otherwise you get screwed on the travel expenses… Can’t plot the course without math. You’ll end up dead, your ship smack dab in the center of a planet, if you can’t do math.”

“But he didn’t.”

“No. He got called away to an important meeting. And by the time he was back, _they’d_ decided I was going to my Uncle Luke. He’d… take care of it.” He snorts. “It. Like the darkness was a tumor that could be cut out.”

She gives him a gentle squeeze.

“I stood there, Luke holding onto me, begging them to take me home, promising to be good, but they didn’t turn around, or come back for me. I blew half the lights on the Falcon as it was taking off, but Luke kept my powers tamped down far enough for them to leave.”  

“How old were you when you went?”

“Eight. How old were you when your parents left you?”

“I don’t know.”

He rolls over to face her. “You don’t know how old you are, do you?”

“No. I kept track of the days. Five thousand, two hundred and eleven. But I don’t know the equation for Jakku days to Imperial Standard, and I was…” She thinks back, trying to find a marker of some sort, but she can’t.

“Old enough to be useful to a scrap trader.”

“Yes. Small, nimble, little hands to get into tight spaces.” His eyes slide shut, and she can feel a wave of rage aimed at her parents for what they did to her. She doesn’t want him focused on that, either. “How old are you?”    

“Twenty-nine. Thirty soon.” His eyes trace over her face. “Older than you.”

She nods. “But I was probably born around the time you started Jedi training…” _Darkness rises and light to meet it._

He looks at her, searching her face for signs of age, and then nods, slowly. “Probably. Or maybe a bit earlier, when Snoke started talking to me.”

“Maybe.” She strokes his face, fingers lingering on the scar.

His eyes stay on hers for a long minute, and then he picks up the token on his chest, and really looks at it. “Is this us, then? Eternally tied together?”

“Maybe. Maybe it’s the Force balancing. Maybe it’s where we need to go. You’ll be dark, and I’ll be light, and we’ll come together in the gray.”

He looks around his all black room. “And where is the gray?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll find it.”

And then she’s back in the dark of her chamber in the Falcon.  


	17. And I Am The Force

“General Organa…”

“Myrton, Bellei, Andromeda… Lovely to see you all again.”

Rey can’t see the conversation going on, she’s in the cockpit ready to get them out at a word, but she can hear it.

“It’s been much too long, General.” That voice is male, so Myrton.

“Yes, much too long,” Leia’s voice is sharp. “It feels like ages since we sat down for a nice little chat in a hidden cove in the middle of nowhere for a friendly cup of tea.” Rey knows that Chewie doesn’t keep tea on the Falcon. “Without any tea,” Leia finishes.

She can feel the functionaries blanch at that.

“Ah… Yes…” Rey isn’t sure which of the ladies that is.

“Out with it, you three. I’m too old and busy for the niceties.”

There’s a pause, and Rey fills in that moment with the image of all three staring at each other, deciding how blunt to be. Finally, the other lady’s voice says, “How are you set for credits, General Organa?”

“You know just as well as I do that I’ve mortgaged everything that can be mortgaged, sold the rest of it, borrowed beyond my means, and the means of everyone I can ask to put something into hock. And you know that’ll cover me to the day after tomorrow, and then we’re bust.”

“Then we’re here right in the nick of time,” Myrton says. Rey hears something move… A pad on the dejarik table?

“That’s awfully generous of you, Myrton, and I’m not in a position to be turning down friends with credits, but… six months ago, you had the ability to literally save me. Send half a dozen ships, and I’d be so much better off than I am now. To say nothing of the lives you could have saved. What changed?”

Rey can feel the three visitors are appalled that Leia would ask them about it so baldly.

And she can feel from Leia that something about this stinks. She doesn’t know if the money is a trap, or what, and she needs to know why it’s landing on her, now.

The other three are silent, tense, and then one of the ladies says, “You know we three make up the controlling interest of the Ygrine Bank?”

Rey hears nothing, but she assumes Leia must know that.

“The fourth largest bank in the galaxy. And the only one in private hands. The only owners not here are your two youngest brothers. And you’re the ruling family of the Ygrith system. And, once upon a time some of my strongest backers.”

“It’s not wise to back a loser when she’s losing,” Myrton says.

The Polite Veneer is apparently off. She hears Chewie growl, and in a second she can feel that veneer snap back into place. At least on the side of the bankers.

“He’s not wrong, Chewie. We’d been losing, and now we’re picking up the pieces and getting into place for another round. And it’s entirely likely, we’ll lose that one, too. The question is, why do you want to back people with a track record of losing?”

She hears a loud sigh.

“Because you’re the only other player on the board with any chance of winning.” Rey doesn’t like the sound of it, but she’s fairly sure that’s true.

“Right now, we’re the _only_ other player on the board, period.”

There’s a tense silence after Leia says that.

“You’re the only other player on the board we can predict,” Myrton says. “If you want honest, there’s that. Other players will rise, and maybe we’ll back them, but right now, no one else is in a position to use what we can offer, well. And right now, we don’t know if the newcomers will be… generally beneficial to us.”

“Uh huh… And it wouldn’t have anything to do with the majority shareholders and the Executive Officers of the Raclan Bank all going missing after signing the bank over to the First Order?”

“You know it has everything to do with that! You want honest? We want to save our own lives.”

She can feel the look Leia’s giving them. She can feel the way Leia’s using the Force to lay their secrets bare. “Not everything… I should have Chewie lock the doors, take us to hyperspace, and then jettison you with the trash.”

“Leia!” Myrton’s voice.

“Slavery is prohibited in your system, but you’ve made loans far and wide, and if enough slaves take advantage of the First Order’s offer, the market for them will go soft, and you’ll lose a _lot_ of money. You’re handing this over now, because you want me to move fast, make some sort of big, flashy attack, remind the galaxy the First Order isn’t the only show in town, and give you time to move funds into droid manufacture so you don’t lose your shirts.” She can’t see it, but she can feel it. Leia just snatched up the pad with the transfer of credits. “I’m not paying you back, either. These are the price for your lives. Goodbye.”

 

* * *

When they leave, Leia’s sitting at the dejarik table, head on her hands, looking defeated. Chewie makes a comforting sound, resting his hand on her shoulder, and she looks up at him, nodding.

“I liked it better when all we had to do was shoot at them, too.”

Rey steps out of the cockpit. “Is it enough money to help?”

Leia sighs at that, too. “It is. It _really_ is. Enough to get three small strike forces up, a good medical ship, and one corsair. And pay off several of our previous backers. I’ve got people inches away from bankrupt for backing us, and I’d prefer they didn’t go under to save me. Plus enough on top of that to make at least a token payment to everyone else we owe.”

Leia’s got the pad, tapping the corner of it, gently. “And, I’ve got to hope, trust, that this money isn’t tracked, and that by paying my people back, I’m not leading Ygrine Bank directly to them, who’ll use the information to buy their lives when the First Order comes calling.”

Chewie moans and growls.

“Yeah, I know. If she can’t do it herself, she’ll know who can.”

“What’s money washing?” Rey asks.

“We give the credits to Maz, she takes care of them, for a price, and then transfers them to whomever we wish to pay. If the Ygrine Bank has a track on the credits, they won’t be able to see who we paid, besides Maz, or how.”

“Oh.”

Leia keeps looking at the pad. “And then all I have to do is figure out what to do with my newfound ships once I’ve got them.”

Chewie adds a comment.

Leia nods. “I know, Chewie.”

Rey sits next to Leia contemplating Chewie’s comment. Every planet they chase the First Order off of is a planet where slaves aren’t going free. Every planet they leave the First Order on, they recruit freely, and grow stronger.

“Start in the core worlds, where it’s illegal,” Rey says.

“Where they’re strong enough that a few strike teams, a corsair, and a good medical cruiser isn’t enough to make them blink,” Leia says. “It’s a start, but…” She shakes her head again. “I’ll have to think about what we do next.” She looks over to Chewie. “In the meantime, we’ve got a wedding to go to, don’t we?”

He makes a pleased sounding yelp, and heads toward the cockpit.

 

* * *

“That brings back memories,” Leia says as Rey works on her lightsaber.

Rey looks up from the shattered case. The crystal, which is apparently the hard part, is still in one piece. There’s a tiny crack in it, but it didn’t shatter. The case is a loss. “Memories?”

“I watched Luke build the replacement for this…” She looks at it more closely. “What happened to it?”

Rey tries not to think of it, the flare of dark and light both pulling, hard, and then bursting apart when neither side would give, but she fails, and Leia feels it. “Oh.” She rests a hand on Rey’s shoulder. “He’s not coming back, Rey. Ben’s gone.”

Rey doesn’t want to touch that, but she can also feel the child in the man, begging his mama and daddy to take him home… and… “You miss him?”

That turns Leia’s focus to herself. “All the time.” She smiles, but her eyes are bright with tears. “I always did. The hardest thing I ever did, over and over, was leaving him behind to build, or protect, his… our… future.”

Rey feels the galaxy worth of sorrow and regrets. Doubts about choices, ones that seemed like the right thing at the time, but now feel like wrong choices.

“Leia… if… Kylo does the things he’s proclaiming… Frees the slaves… Makes citizens… Polices the unknown regions… What are we rebelling for?”

It doesn’t even take Leia a second to think about it. She knows. She’s always known. “Peace born of mutual respect, and not fear of annihilation. A galaxy where ‘good behavior’ isn’t enforced by planet killing weapons. The idea that no man, not even a good one, should rule every other man at his own whim. The idea that every man is an end to him or herself. That we’re not to be judged by or for the sins of others. Self-determination.”

“For who?”

Leia half-smiles. “You’re growing up. On Alderaan, everyone, no matter how rich or how poor had a vote. They made the laws, and we made sure they were enforced equally. Everyone, no matter how rich or poor was only judged and punished, for their own crimes. We never burned a neighborhood because a thief lived there, and a thief only went to jail after a fair trial, and because the majority of our world thought theft was a crime.”

“But that’s not how most of the worlds in the Republic worked, was it?”

“No. But, some of them did. We made it work for two billion people… We could start it again. That was the hope of the New Republic, real, honest self-governance.”

“What if people want to be governed by…” She doesn’t say Kylo, though she’s thinking it, “an Empire?”

“They wouldn’t. Not if they knew what else they could have.” But Rey can feel that Leia’s lying, to herself if not to Rey. She looks at the lightsaber again, changing the subject. “Are you going to keep the design the same?”

Rey shakes her head. “No.” Her staff is resting against the bench next to her. “I’m better with a quarterstaff.” She lifts the staff, and touches it midway through. “Shorten the saberblade, keep it two thirds staff, one third blade. Use it for a walking stick when I don’t need to attack. Keep it walking stick length when I just need to subdue someone. Give it a twist, extend the blade, and if I need to kill, I’m ready.”

Leia nods at that.  

“I won’t be able to test it in here.”

Leia raises an eyebrow.

“The crystal is cracked, just a little, but I don’t know how that’ll effect the blade. Last thing I want to do is blow a hole in the Falcon while we’re in hyperspace.”

“Good plan.”

“But I should have the case and staff built by the time we land. It’ll feel good to have some real ground under my feet, and get the chance to really swing this around, see how it works.”

“Get some robes for you, and you’ll look like a real Jedi.”

Rey shrugs. “Maybe. Let’s see if I can get this working, first.”

 

* * *

A day later, two… In space, time means little, and in hyperspace, even less. There’s just the view of stars streaking past.

Rey’s restless. She wants to visit Kylo. Wants to wrap herself close to him, breathe him in, touch his skin, or if not that, at least be _near_ him. Even _talking_ to him would ease the ache.

But… she’s not entirely sure what happens to her body when she visits Kylo. Does it go with her? Does it stay back here? If she still had Han’s chamber, she’d try, but she doesn’t. She’s kipping on the berth in the sitting area, and if her body does go…

She doesn’t want to even attempt to explain to Leia and Chewie how she just vanished from a ship moving at hyperspeed. And she really doesn’t want to explain _who_ she’s visiting.

And if her body does stay behind… Leia’s way too sensitive to miss what’s going on, and that… There’s another conversation she has no desire to have.

She feels him draw close a time or two, and sense she’s still on the Falcon, and draw back.

She hopes he can sense why she’s not bridging contact, that he knows she’s not just ignoring him.

_Two more days._

* * *

“Good book?” Leia asks.

Rey sighs. “I’m not asleep, so that’s something, right?”

Leia laughs. “I’ve felt that way _so_ many times. What are you reading?”

Orlac’s expanded library has offered her more options in the way of opinions about what happened in the last fifty years of their galaxy. She’s not sure how useful that is, but… It’s new, and different.

“I’m reading about a Gungan named JarJar Binks.”

Leia nods. “I met him a few times. My father thought well of him.”

“Oh…” Rey looks at the pad. “Uh…”

Leia lifts an eyebrow. “That’s a fraught look. What are you reading?”

“The author thinks he was working with Palpatine to foster the end of the Republic.”

Leia looks at her for a few moments and then bursts out laughing. “Oh… wow… Uh… Well… That’s… An idea… I guess.”

“No?” Rey asks.

“I only met him a few times, but… he seemed impressively stupid.”

“Wasn’t he a senator?”

That gets a wry look from Leia, and Rey’s got the sense that impressively stupid and senator are not mutually exclusive terms. “Yes, from Naboo, and he did help to create the Empire, but… My father thought he’d been manipulated by Palpatine, not that he was in league with him.”

“Oh… What happened to him?”

“Died in exile, shamed for his Emergency Powers vote.”

Rey thinks about that. “Your father… was he a member of the Republic?”

“Yes. He was the Senator from Alderaan.”

“What happened after Palpatine took over?”

“He stayed a senator from Alderaan. He was willing to work inside, and outside, of the system to try and make things better. He used his powers to curb the Emperor’s excesses, as much as he could, and he used his intelligence to allow us to do a better job fighting the Emperor on the battlefield.”

Rey can feel that Leia’s thinking about that, deeply. The First Order is recruiting hard and fast now, and with fewer than five hundred members, and, even with three strike teams, no real functional military muscle, from the inside is the best… only… possible way for them to attack.

Rey tries a tentative suggestion, “Maybe it’s not enough, but just having soldiers who won’t open fire on civilians, or follow orders to slaughter them… Soldiers who, quietly, ask questions about things like that before those orders are given…”

Leia nods. “It’s not winning the war, or even a battle, but maybe it redraws the lines, and maybe it wins a few skirmishes.” Her voice drops, and Rey can feel how much Leia’s horizons have shrunk. “Maybe it saves a few lives.”

Rey nods at that. “Stay in, do well, become officers, and be the kind of person who refuses to give that order. Is that the sort of thing your father did?”

“As often as he possibly could.”

 

* * *

Day? Night? Doesn’t matter. It just is. Rey’s tired, but unable to sleep. The edgy, jittery sort of tired that goes with too many hours awake, and not enough hours _doing_ something.

There’s not enough room in the Falcon for her to _do_ the sort of things she needs to. Get up, walk or run or… something. Something hard and physical, and her body _moving._

Nothing to be done for it. They’ll get to Lirium soon, and when they do, she can get out and run as much as she needs to.

Until then, there’s pacing around in a circle, getting ready to read another book. She hasn’t picked up any of the ‘sacred’ books since the light/dark no one wins epiphanies. The more she’s thought about it the more _right_ it has felt, but what to do with it?

In Luke’s cave there was the image of the man, split, half dark, half light, both sides balanced, both sides equal, both sides contained in _one_. A thousand generations ago, the Jedi knew that balance was a thing. They knew that the light wasn’t the end all and be all. They placed their home on top of a mountain of light and a pit of dark.

That had to be intentional.

But none of the ‘sacred’ books have touched on that. The Jedi code doesn’t touch that. So she’s been searching through Orlac’s pad, hoping for something in there. So far, besides a collection of books about people who may have been working for both sides, she’s not finding it.

But now, in the ‘night’ part of life on the Falcon, as the ship pilots itself, and Leia and Chewie are in their chambers, probably sleeping, and the Porgs are all bedded down, she’s feeling drawn back to the books.

To one in particular.

She doesn’t know if it’s the oldest of the lot. It is the most decrepit. She’s not sure if the damage is old, or if this is the one Waldo was chewing on. But, its cover is gone, so is most of the title page. The spine is cracked and gnawed, strings frayed. The pages are brittle, and stained.

It’s seen better days.

But it feels _right_ in her hands. The way the token did.

She flips to the first full page and knows why….

_There is only the Force._

_I will do what I must to keep the balance._

_The balance is what keeps me together_

_Through my passions I find serenity_

_In chaos I see freedom_

_In order I see harmony_

_In life I find strength_

_And in death I find purpose_

_I am the wielder of the flame._

_The light that burns black._

_The protector of the balance_

_The Force is in all things_

_And I am the Force._

 

And on the next page, there’s Luke’s split man. She’s not sure if it’s because the book is old, or if it’s intentional, but he’s not black and white.

He’s light gray, and dark gray.

And the balance is within him, not without.

Holding it in her hands, she knows she’s found the last piece she needed to draw up the map of what comes next.


	18. None Of Us

“General Hermaldo to see you,” C8-P9 says.

Apparently, if you place a series of _massive_ orders, when you then turn around and request an assistant droid, something that can blend command-level thought with a full database of your employees, their strengths, weaknesses, and skillsets, along with a learning and anticipation of needs algorithm, and the ability to analyze the contents of any substance placed in front of it, the company who makes said droids has one, up, ready, functional, and in your office, almost _before_ you request it.

It puts Kylo in mind of C3-PO, a little. It’s a bipedal vaguely human looking thing, with a sleek black exterior, and a glowing blue strip about where it would have eyes… or given the shape, eyebrows, really. No mouth or nose, but his arms and legs are much more mobile than C3-PO, and his hands and feet are fully articulated.

So far, two days into this experiment, C8-P9 is doing just fine. There’s no fawning adulation, which Kylo appreciates, and, if this thing starts plotting behind his back, it’ll have killed him before he senses anything is up, which is the way he prefers it. 

He’s placed an order for a series of training droids, too. This is a protocol and administrative droid, and it moves like a person. The training droids have to be even better. It’s been far too long since he’s gotten to really fight something, and he’ll be curious to see what happens when he fights something that he cannot sense the thoughts of.

In the meantime…

General Hermaldo enters his chambers. There’s a mixture of fear and righteous indignation. He’s sure that everything he’s done has been in the service of the Order, and done as well as can be expected, if not beyond that. He’s afraid it’s not good enough.

“I’m getting reports that our recruiters are sending slaves away,” Kylo says it, voice smooth and calm.

“Not slaves, My Lord, per se… Animals. Non-humans…” Hermaldo’s staring at Kylo, rapidly beginning to feel alarmed by what may be the fallout of this order.

Kylo lets the silence spread. Waits several beats, until Hermaldo is starting to fidget.

“Did I tell you to refuse non-humans?”

“No sir, but… you couldn’t have… I mean…”

Kylo waits, sitting there, impassive, as Hermaldo’s words stutter to a close.

“Obviously, General Hermaldo, if they were _slaves_ they were capable of doing _something._  We are not speaking of species who are incapable of some sort of labor, are we?”

“No, My Lord… Some of them were… Twi’Leks… lady Twi’Leks or… slaves of similar uses.”

Sex slaves.

“Do we not have a multitude of tasks that need to be done on more than a thousand planets and ships?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“And are we not more than a million short of where we were this time last year?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“Then why are you sending them away? There has to be _something_ these ladies can do… That doesn’t involve taking off their uniforms.”

There’s a plaintive look in Hermaldo’s eyes. He doesn’t want to say it, but… “My Lord…”

“Yes?”

“We’ve… always… done it this way. And… not all of them are… pretty to look at…”

Sex slaves and non-humans who aren’t even humanoid. “What, exactly was Supreme Leader Snoke?”

The man swallows. He’s old enough that he likely went from the Empire directly to the First Order. Palpatine wanted long lines of humans, and only humans, in his forces. Snoke, didn’t much care one way or another who worked for him, as long as the job got done.

“Sir, we’re not… equipped… to deal with some of the newer enlistees. Armor, weapons, uniforms…”

Kylo blinks. “Really? You mean to tell me, that in an organization with engineers capable of building weapons that can destroy an entire system, we cannot find anyone capable of creating a helmet suited to a Twi’Lek, or a suit of armor large enough for a Wookie, or a chair to accommodate a Hutt?” He pulls Hermaldo up by his throat, leaving him dangling in the air, and then says, “Hermaldo, is this, _truly_ , the hill upon which you wish to die?”

He gives him just enough air to answer. “No, My Lord.”

“Excellent.” He gently lowers Hermaldo’s feet to the floor. “If they manage to slip their bonds, avoid the slave catchers, get to a recruiting station, and enlist, we will not turn them away.” Kylo fingers the cuff of his tunic, obviously, someone makes these. They don’t just magically appear in his closet. “C8, find me our uniform designer, and bring her to me. Hermaldo, until we can create new uniforms, a black armband with our insignia will do. If whatever it is doesn’t have arms, find some part of it you can wrap a piece of fabric around that can identify it. Anyone who comes to us, we will take. It’s not like we’ve got a shortage of jobs.”

Hermaldo nods, and scurries away.  

Once he’s gone, Kylo says, “C8, how many of my officers have been in service since the days of Palpatine?”

“Seven thousand and sixty three.”

“And that’s what percentage of my officer corps?”

“Eleven point—“

“Rounding to the nearest digit is fine, C8.”

“Noted, sir. Call it twelve percent, sir.”

Kylo nods. “Anyone left over from Palpatine’s days has to be at least forty-five.”

“The youngest of your men from Palpatine’s days is thirty-nine, sir.”

Kylo blinks at that. “Joined up at nine?”

“Pressed into service as kitchen staff, sir. He’s in charge of our entire food logistics service, now.”

Kylo’s never been impressed with the quality of the food the First Order offers, but he’s never been hungry, and neither has any other member of the First Order. And he knows that keeping more than 1.5 million men, spread over hundreds of planets and tens of thousands of ships, and more than three times as many the year before, fed is a massive task. Whoever they’re talking about, he does his job well.

“Do we have any nine-year-olds currently working for us?” He can remember being pulled away from his parents, and the flash of Rey screaming as her parents left her behind.

“Yes, sir. Do you want an exact count?”

No. There’s nothing magical about being nine. “How many under fourteen?”

“Six thousand, seven hundred, and nine.”

“Does that include the children who are being trained as Stormtroopers?”

“No, sir. That’s just the ones on staff.”

“Including the ones being trained?”

“Ninety-three thousand, four hundred and twelve.”

He rubs his head. The ones being trained… They kidnap them young enough so they won’t remember a life, a name, anything other than the First Order. That’s a key to the success of the Hux method. Strip them of any possible alliance other than the First Order, and then make it their mother, father, religion, lover, and child.

Kylo knows he can’t turn them away. They don’t keep any records of who those children were, where they got them, or who might be looking for them. And even if he could take them back, most of them, at this point, don’t want to go. In time, getting them to retire will be difficult enough. He’s going to have to sell them on the idea that leaving, and starting up lives outside the First Order is the most important thing they could possibly do to protect it.

The others… “Any child on staff who wishes to return to their family, send them home. Any ones who wish to enlist with us, take them on. If I’m freeing slaves, I may as well start in my own staff.”

“Done, sir. May I ask a question, sir?”

Unlike some second-in-commands, C8’s questions are always useful. “If you ever have a question, feel free to ask.”

“Yes, sir. You’ve mentioned that upon completing five years of service, that your slave soldiers will become citizens of the Order, what does that mean, sir?”

Yes, good questions. “I don’t know, yet. Right now, it means I’m defanging anyone who would wish to overthrow me. After that… I’ve got the time to think, and I’ll do it.” After all, it’s not like he needs a concrete answer anytime soon.

“Yes, sir. May I suggest that anyone with more than five years of service currently in the First Order also be granted citizenship? We don’t want them to feel resentful of the newer recruits.”

“Good suggestion, and yes, make it so.”

“Excellent, sir.”

Another thought hits. “When the uniform designer comes to me, remind me to tell her that I want some sort of mark to note who’s a citizen. I want the others to want it, see it as a mark of status.”

“I will do so, sir.”

 

* * *

Kylo settles into his nightly meditations. For a moment. Then he’s up, pacing around.

A billion worlds out there, and she’s traveling to one of them. Somewhere out there. Somewhere gray.

He can feel her mind drawing near to him, and away, and near again. Feel the want. He hopes she can feel he’s missing her, too.

And though he hates waiting, because patience was never his strong suit, but he feels an… unwelcome need for it.

This is a… necessary space. Luke taught it as pulling into himself, finding the stillness, and existing between heartbeats, waiting for fullness, for the _right_ time. Snoke taught it as rage, as pain, and seething. Fuel may grow scarce, so the flame must burn low, wait, but eventually a new gasp of air would hit, and then explode.

Both masters knew there would be times where waiting was necessary.

Both knew how to make sure he’d gather enough strength to wait.

He touches the token on his chest. In his reflection in the window showing the galaxy beyond him, he can see the light swirling into dark, and the spot in the middle, where they mix, meld, come together.

_Meet in the gray._

Looking out there… They’re all gray, more or less. Some planets are bluish, some greenish, some tan, but really, they’re gray. The stars, they burn in a multitude of colors, but over a billion miles, they dim into pinpricks of light gray.

All of it’s gray.

And that’s when it hits that for them, gray isn’t a place.

_Meet in the gray._

That gray has to be inside him, and until it is, they’re stuck here, waiting.

He wonders what it would mean for him to be gray.

Luke taught the dark as hate, rage, pain, grief… That all of us had those emotions, and the task of becoming one with the light was to let them go.

Snoke taught light as paralysis, rigid, constrained modes suited only for corpses. Only the dead feel no pain or sorrow. He taught the dark as power, as the fuel which made a man strong.

He closes his eyes, pulls inward. The anger is always there. It always was. He’s sure it always will be. But the hate, and the grief, both of those are lessening as… As Rey gets more of a hold on him, or Snoke gets less.

He’s not sure if he’s capable of peace, or serenity, but some of the chaos is leaching away. Maybe one day he’ll be capable of some level of harmony.

Disjoined harmony. Or… several harmonies playing at once, maybe one louder, one softer. He’s fairly sure conflict will always be there, too. Like the cracked crystal that called to him when he built his saber. The crack can’t heal, but he can shape the energy it releases into something useful.

Like the crystal, he can control the tension, the energy given by his pulls to dark and light. He can use it.

Ignorance he can and likely will, conquer.

That could be gray.

And what to do with it?

The monk training new Jedi… That’s a light path he turned from ages ago. No… That’s a path that was never on offer for him, even if he’d been Ben. He didn’t turn from that path, because it was never one he could have ever sat foot upon.

Ben was supposed to be… A Jedi. A Master. But a new Jedi. Luke envisioned a world where Jedi weren’t completely aloof. Where they had at least some attachments. He knew enough from his own past to know that his attachments saved him, and Vader. Where they could form families and govern. Where they could put their skills, powers, and discipline to greater use.

His mother had an image of him, a great Counselor. Lord of the Senate, perhaps. A man using his powers to help others work together, to smooth out their differences, and allow them to come together for a greater good.

There were stories, handed down by his mother, of the great Ben Kenobi. How he’d been the finest lightsaber master ever. (Kylo liked those stories. Those were the moments when he felt most like a _Ben._ ) How he’d been a General in the service of the Senate. How the Jedi would send him out to negotiate settlements when people couldn’t reach accord.

A peacemaker with a lightsaber. A blue one. That’s what she saw for him.

Kylo looks out at his galaxy. He’s won the war, and right now, while the galaxy scrambles through the changes wrought by the last year, no one is standing against him. No one that matters. No one who can effectively strike him. Somehow he doesn’t think this is what she was envisioning as peace.

He’s not the light side Jedi-Prince he was supposed to be. A Supreme Leader, instead.

Definitely dark. But it might be gray, or at least not black. If he… doesn’t execute… too many… planets… probably. Rey and her band destroyed the more than a million men on Starkiller. Children stolen from their homes and brainwashed into service with the First Order. And that did nothing to even slightly dim their light.

It’s a cynical thought, but he’s got the feeling the Force couldn’t care less how many people you murder, as long as you think you’re doing it for a good reason. It wasn’t until Palpatine got his Death Star operational that the Force even thought about rising up someone to take him down. Not until he murdered literally billions of people, just to put a spy in her place, not until _then_ did the Force move against him.

He stares out at the galaxy. If he does seed it with citizens, and if he does let them pick representatives, and vote for… Whatever it is they want to vote for. He’s honestly uncertain what they may want. He has no idea what makes a _good_ government, but he can identify a _bad_ one. He supposes that was the sort of thing he was supposed to know. If he’d trained the way his mother had envisioned, he’d already know what a citizen is supposed to be, and why it would matter. He’d have an idea of how to govern. He’d… be better suited for this.

But he’s not.

He looks at his reflection. Himself, just in a pair of loose black trousers, and the token around his neck. The reflection facing him is light, because his skin is light. But the window shifts colors, and the all blue lights of his room shifts them further.

The reflection in the glass is gray.

“None of us is all dark… or all light.”

 


	19. In The Gray (Reprise)

Meet in the gray. Well, it’s _gray_ all right.

So gray.

Her first moments on Takodana made her say that she didn’t know this much green existed.

Well, she’s always known that gray exists, but she’s never seen anywhere this _gray._ As soon as they drop out of light speed and Rey looks upon Lirium, she knows that Kylo will join her once she gets planet side.

It takes them a day to find the exact coordinates. The magnetic fields on this planet are wonky, and you can get the exact same reading in three or four different places. Finally, though, they find the right bit of beach, and when Rey sets foot on the sand, it’s even grayer than it was from space.  

Part of it, there’s a storm fading away as they land on the beach, and that’s making the sky gray. And, of course, gray sky means gray water. Part of it is they’re landing on a gray sand beach. There are mountains on the horizon, huge looming peaks of gray. Apparently a billion years of water crashing against stone made gray sand. Part of it is that, comfortable though it feels to her, Chewie says it’s winter by local standards. The grasses growing in tufts all over the dunes, that usually enjoy hot and humid summer here, are all gray and dead.

But just because every inch of the area around them is gray, doesn’t mean that mood is dreary.

A wedding is a happy thing. And as more and more of the guests show up, the mood gets festive.

The storm finally leaves, and while the beach stays gray, the sea sparks sapphire blue, and the sky glows with a blue sun and a green sun. The Porgs, tasting ocean air again, go streaming out of the Falcon, flying high, trilling at each other in pleasure.

Rose and Finn make it a few hours after the Falcon, and once they’re there, the party is ready to go. After all, all a wedding really needs is a bride and groom, and once you’ve got that, the rest is just fun.

They greet everyone with warm hugs and huge smiles.

The bride is blushing, and glowing, and though Rey’s not sure if Rose knows it, yet, just a tiny bit pregnant. The groom is over any and all proverbial moons. He’s at least an extra foot tall, and strutting about, so pleased with everything in the universe right now.

They work through the day, through sunsets, getting the party ready. Roasting fish pulled from the sea, gathering up driftwood for bonfires, setting up tents amid the dunes for everyone who doesn’t wish to sleep on their ship, mixing up drinks, and cutting up fruits for dessert, getting as dressed up as they can.

Rey borrows a dress from Connix. It’s a light, thin pink thing, only covering from her shoulders to knees. Rey doesn’t own one of her own, and she knows, at some point tonight, he’ll come, and she wants him to see her, at least once, in something soft and pretty.

And maybe, at least once, she wants to be soft and pretty.

She’s not the only one borrowing clothing, or trading, just to have something ‘new’ for a night.

She watches Leia do Rose’s hair, and smiles at it. It’s such a… common thing. Just small, gentle touches and the kind of everyday, boring, life sorts of things. The great Resistance, the sparks of hope, the heralds of a new era, blah, blah, blah. They’re getting ready for a party on the beach, and their leader is brushing the hair of one of their tech specialists, setting it in intricate braids, as the collected women of the Resistance gather together to fit a dress to Rose and make sure she looks stunning.

Compared to what they could have put together on one of the core worlds, it’s a simple party, sparse of luxuries, but compared to one of the core worlds its _safe._ A place where they can gather, and dance, and laugh with almost everyone who matters to them. That’s more important than rich deserts and pretty flowers.

Rose and Finn marry on a beach, under three moons, surrounded by bonfires and their friends, bound by life, and love, and the Force.

And if there are tears in Rey’s eyes during the ceremony, she isn’t the only one. (Apparently, even Wookies cry at weddings.)

 

 

* * *

There isn’t a hotel. As best Rey knows, there isn’t a settlement anywhere on this planet. (Or if there is, it was small enough they couldn’t see it from the air.) Which is one reason why they’re here. (The beach and the moons and the sky filled with stars in a place not infested with First Order troops is the other.)

Their ships are scattered all over the beach, and many of them, Rey included, have opted for tents on the sand. It’s not every day she gets to camp out on the beach, and she intends to take advantage of it.

The party rolls long into the night, and she enjoys it. Poe can really dance, and like her, he doesn’t have a sweetie, or, if he does, like her, his sweetie isn’t available. They dance together, a lot. And laugh. And drink.

He tells her about the girl on Canto Bight that he had to leave behind. That it wasn’t ever going to work out, because she wanted something he could never be.

She tells him about the boy at Orlac’s school. The one who had big plans she just couldn’t be part of.

They’re both vague. And probably lying, at least about the specifics. She knows she is. And she’s got an awfully strong sense that Poe may be saying girl, but he means boy, and by boy, he means the man he met who looked as much like Finn as possible.

They drink more, and dance again, and if they’re both lonely, that’s part of being a rebel.

And that’s part of why the people around her laugh harder, dance longer, and drink deeper. They’ve all lost someone, many someones. Leia keeps looking out, past the bonfires, and Rey wonders what/who she sees out there. Whatever it is, she’ll shake her head, take a drink, and find someone else to dance with.

They tell jokes. Long and dirty ones. Poe’s got one that’s so twisted and shocking that BB-8 keeps trying to shut him up, and when he gets to the punchline even R2D2 blushes. (Though C-3P0 claims that’s not actually possible.)

And when they aren’t dancing, Finn sits by one of the fires, Rose in his lap. They share kisses and bites of food. Sip from the same cup. Talk about a future where the two of them can live in the same place.

Rey tries to imagine some future like this. A world where she could celebrate loving Kylo. She supposes that would have to be the word for it, even if it may be too simple of an emotion to explain what’s between them.

The image of it won’t form in her mind, not even hints of it.

Whatever future they have, a party of people laughing and dancing with them as they sing raunchy wedding songs, and make suggestive jokes, and pass around cup after cup of Krythian Fire Wine, isn’t theirs.

She wonders if she should be sad for that, but, at least right now, she doesn’t feel it. Poe takes her hand in his, tugging her to her feet. A new song is starting, and it’s time to dance again.

 

 

* * *

Rey feels it when he arrives. She doesn’t stop dancing, or laughing. She doesn’t know what, exactly, he can see, but she trusts that the Force wouldn’t let him be here if it would ruin things.

The party around her doesn’t come to a screeching halt, so obviously, no one else sees Kylo Ren standing just at the line of the firelight, between the dunes, firelight glinting off his eyes.

He’s in his usual command blacks. Maybe just done with his day. She’s got no idea what local time is for him, and all she knows of local time here is that it’s the dark part of the day.

He doesn’t march up and hit Poe, so she assumes he cannot see her companions. Though perhaps he’s gained enough care to know that would displease her. And enough control not to act on it, anyway.

She can feel the way he’s watching. There’s hunger, he wants to be with her, now; jealousy, he can see enough of what’s happening to feel jealous about not being able to join in; fear, that like last time, they’ll be jerked apart just as things are getting interesting. Though she doesn’t think that will happen. He’s here, now, for a reason. And she very much doubts that reason has anything to do with deep questions of the nature of the Force or the power of government or…

Or whatever else they’ve been filling their time with.

They’re here for each other, right now.

The music ends, and Poe bows to her. She bows back, makes her excuses. It’s genuinely late, and no one will miss her once she’s gone. She retreats further back to the dunes.

He doesn’t say anything, and she appreciates that. They’re not quite out of earshot from the party. She figures that when they’re far enough away that the music grows dim, they’ll be safe to speak.

He walks abreast of her, his hand just brushing hers with every other step. After the second time, she takes his hand in hers. He smiles a little, and they walk further.

Finally, they’re out of earshot of the party, with only faint hints of the music lingering in the air around them.

“You dance,” he says, sounding both pleased and surprised.

“On occasion.” She smiles a little. “Actually, this is it. It’s my first wedding, and everyone was dancing, and… Who cares if I’m good at it or not? We’re here, we’re alive, and we’re celebrating life and love. Why not dance?”

He lifts her hand to his lips, kisses it, bows slightly, and then pulls her close, his hand on her low back, her hand in his, just like he was taught when he was young. “I’m bad at it.”

“No.” She smiles up at him. “Not with me.”

He looks down at her, eyes warm, tracing her face. “Not with you.”

They’re awkward at first. She never learned how to dance, and there’s no music in his soul, but once they get a rhythm going, they move, easily. Compared to the dance they did in Snoke’s throne room, swaying on a beach is easy.

“I like this,” she says, face resting against his chest.

He nods, and kisses the top of her head. “Is this what running away looks like to you?"

 

 

“It could. We’re in the middle of nowhere. You, me, a handful of little Je—Force users.”

“I burn my black, and you burn your tan, and we meet in the middle at… Gray?”

She looks up at him, moonlight glinting on her eyes. “Yes!”

They hold that look, and both of them know it’s not going to happen. But there’s a certain freedom that comes with admitting they want it, at least as a fantasy.

They’ll meet in the gray, but it won’t ever be a day in day out spend their lives in the same place together sort of thing. It’ll be like this, moments stolen from whatever else they do, pushing them towards each other, and the future they’re supposed to build.

She’s got the feeling that this, and moments like it, help both of them get to where they need to go. But too many of them… And they’d likely go nowhere.

He leans down and kisses her. It starts soft and sweet, both of them just getting the feel of the other. There isn’t instant electricity, or the jolt of when he pulled her hand to his chest. This is the yearning ache of the first scent of water after a long thirst. Wet and glide. Building tension. The token spinning, fast, dark and light whirling.

She doesn’t know if she pulls him tight to her, or if he pulls her tight to him. She does know that he’s pressed against her, every inch of his body flush to hers. The kiss deepens, and she reaches up on her toes, so she can get closer to him, and he bends a bit, getting onto her level.

Lips and tongues and wet, wet, wet… So slick. The frictionless glide of skin seeking pleasure.

There’s electricity here, building, waiting to crackle, and nothing slow about this burn, not now. It’s arcing through her, from toes to fingers, and settling, sweet and sure, between her legs.

He’s rocking against her, and she’s rubbing against him, trying to get more kisses, more touch, more _everything_ all at once.

He breaks the kiss, stepping back, and she follows, wanting to keep him near. “Can’t get it off with you pressed against me,” he says, unfastening his cloak.

That keeps her back, though she’s still touching him, stroking his sides and hips as he yanks off the cloak, snapping it in the air, laying it out on the sand as a blanket for them. Seeing him do it, she realizes that he must be _here._

It takes an almost stupidly long time for it to connect in her mind… She can’t do what she wants to do and keep her clothing on. She’s been watching him, stripping off his boots and socks, fighting with his tunic, but somehow the idea that she’s dressed takes a while to occur to her.

And then it does, and she’s suddenly _much_ too dressed. And in a heartbeat, like him, she’s pulling off boots and socks, tossing them aside. Unlike him, she’s wearing a dress. It’s simple on and off. Undo the belt, grab the hem, pull, and she’s naked before him. He’s breathing fast, fighting with his pants, trying to skin them off without looking away from her, and she’s staring at him, stroking his chest and arms, feeling her hands raise goosebumps on his skin.

He finally gets them off, and tossed aside. He pulls her flush to him again, and both of them hiss at the pleasure of the touch. She’s on her toes, and he’s bending down. She rarely feels small, but here, holding him, feeling the span of his shoulders and hips against her, she feels tiny.

He steadies her, and falls back, letting the Force break the fall and lower them gently.

He smiles just a little as soon as they’re both lying down. “Now we’re the same height.”

She wriggles a bit, looking to get herself well and settled, making sure that _spot_ that lights up and begs for more touch is pressed _right there_ against him. She groans, a deep, low sound, once she gets herself set, and her pitch jumps a few octaves when he rocks his hips a bit, rubbing his shaft against her, stroking it slick and easy against her.

He’s grinning up at her, _very_ pleased look on his face. “You like that.”

She doesn’t answer, not with words, not when he’s rocking his hips like that, rubbing against her. She answers with another long groan, pleasure spilling from her mouth. He catches her lip between his, sucking gently, and his hands roam over her back and butt and hips.

Her hands and knees are on his cloak, beside his shoulders and hips, and she experiments with moving. Long strokes, slow, easy, liquid ones… They drag her breasts and delta over him, trail her body along his heat, make her body tingle and _want._

Her head falls to the crook of his neck, and he kisses her ear as she rocks faster, rubbing more, harder, _right there._ It almost startles her, everything goes tight, so tight, _needing_ , and then, like the dream, she unravels in a series of long, shuddering pulses.

For a moment, she just lies against him, glowing, and then props herself up on her arms. He’s got his hands behind his head, and is looking up at her, a big, goofy grin on his face.

He reaches up, and kisses her quickly, lips to lips, and then adds a tiny nip of tooth. He rocks his hips against her again. Still hot, and hard… very, very hard.

“You’re not done.”

He’s still grinning. “I _really_ hope not.”

She grins at that, too. She rises up, and sits on his hips, trailing her fingers across his chest, resting them on the junjan token. “You’re still wearing it.”

“I didn’t take off.” Though he reaches for it, slipping it over his head, and putting it over hers. “Give it back to me when we meet again.”

She nods at that. “My hands to yours and back again.”

He smiles at her, and touches the token. “The promise we’ll meet again. You’ve got to give that back to me.”

“I will.”

He then drags his fingers from where it rests between her breasts, to her tummy, and lightly, gently, below. He rocks his hips again, reminding her that he’s _not_ done.

She nods, bends down, kisses his chest, and belly, and she can feel it against her chest, hot, impatient, damp… _Wanting._ She looks up at him, feeling a little nervous to admit this, but... it’s true, and… she just says it, “I… don’t… really know what to do.”

That gets a smile, too. “Just touch me. I promise, I’ll like it.”

She scoots around a bit, so she’s kneeling between his legs, so she can see as well as touch. She knows where he wants her to touch, can feel him hoping for it, needing it.

She spends a moment looking at it, hard, tall and proud against his belly, wet. There’s a visible sheen even in the moonlight. She reaches out her hand, and gently, very gently strokes down his shaft, tips of her fingers slipping along hot, damp skin.

His hips rock, and his eyes close, a soft panting sound easing from between his lips at the contact.

She knows why he was grinning when she was rubbing against him. The contact feels good, it’s a very pleasant sensation against her fingers. Making him do that, feel like that, feels even better. Makes her feel bold, more sure of herself. She shifts her touch, wrapping her hand around his shaft.

He hisses when she closes her hand around him, and she tries to pull back, afraid she’s hurt him. She might not know too much about this, but she does know you don’t have to hit a man too hard in the stones to drop him.

He closes his hand around hers, stopping her from pulling back. “No…” His voice quavers, and he inhales, hard. She can feel him struggling through their bond. “It’s good.” He licks his lips, sits up, and then kisses her, hard. “Very good.”

“Then… why…” she doesn’t understand why he won’t let her move her hand.

He almost smiles. “It’s been a long time.”

“You’ve been the Supreme Leader for less than a year. How long could it—“

“Since I really enjoyed it.”

He can feel she doesn’t understand that. He swallows hard, making himself focus on anything besides his desire to pounce on her and rub himself all over her. He rubs his lips together and tries to think of any way to explain this. _Food._ Everyone eats and everyone gets hungry. “It’s like food. There’s a big difference between you get hungry and shove a protein bar in your mouth, and you’re starving and get to sit down to all your favorite foods.”

That she understands. She begins to stroke again, and he stops her, again.

“If this is… what do you like to eat?”

He’s having a difficult time remembering anything he ever enjoyed eating. It’s been a long time since he’s done anything beyond stuff a protein bar and vitamin mush into his mouth, too.

“Kylo?”

He closes his eyes, remembering, and then opens them, opens his hand, lets her move. “Strawberries. Sweet cream. Black coffee with chocolate.” She strokes as he says that, and he shudders through the last word, and stops her hand again.

“If this is like that, why do you keep stopping my hand?”

He tries to smile, not sure how to even begin explaining _that._ He can’t. A million years, and the words wouldn’t form on his lips. He does drop all of his walls, and lets her in, lets her feel the urge, the need, the razor’s edge balance he’s using to not topple over into pleasure and spurt all over her hand like a spotty-faced-boy. He fears that when that happens, they’ll be done, and this will never come again.

She takes his hand off of hers, pressing it down, resting against his cloak on the sand. He can feel the sense of welcome and acceptance. “It’s okay,” she says to him. “We’ll do this again. If I have to steal a ship and fly myself to you, we’ll do this again.”

He grins again, this time relief, and leans back, weight on his elbows, legs spread out in front of him, skin moonlight white against the black of his cloak. Even here, doing this, he’s oddly sharp, angular. Almost too tall, too long, too spread out.

She strokes, gently, and his head falls back, eyes closing. A soft _uhng_ slips from between his lips, and the feel of that sound thrills through her.

She watches his face, mouth slightly opens, eyes closed, tightly. He almost looks like he’s in pain, but she’s seen pain, and this isn’t it. There’s no anger here. Tension, yes, he wants her to go faster, wants her to get on top of him, wants kisses, and licks, and wet, sucking… mouth.

He’s imagining it, intensely. Looking down at her as she… with her mouth… Stroking her face, hand fisted in her hair, hips rocking, gasping with the pleasure of it.

She could do that. The idea of it sets another thrill through her. She can see it in her mind, feel the slip of him against her lips, and the strangled gasp that would jolt through him is practically in her ears when she begins to shift position.

Once she’s hovering over it, eye to eye, so to speak, she’s again not entirely sure what to do with it. For as intensely as he’s imaging it, he’s not giving her any pointers. She’s got the sense that he might not actually _know_ how to do this, either. He just knows the feel and the look of it, not how to make that feel happen.

The image is clear though. She’s holding on at the base and keeping it in her mouth, stroking her mouth up and down, like she’d been doing with her hand. So she does.

And the jolted gasp, that’s exactly how she knew it’d be. She can feel that he’s looking at her the way he was in the fantasy. His fingers fall to her face, stroking gently, and she looks up at him, but it’s not a great angle for it. Mostly she’s just looking at his stomach and chest. She’d have to be… under him, maybe, to be able to do this _and_ look up.

She shifts her awareness, lets the Force see for her, and like with the fantasy, she can see him. His eyes are open now, and he’s staring at her, eyes wide with pleasure and adoration. He’s struggling against the pleasure. He wants so much to dive into it, and let it consume him, and he wants to stay here, now, watching her, feeling her do this because she wants to.

Because making him feel good makes her feel good.

The pieces fall together in that moment. She’s the first person he can remember who’s ever been here, with him, wanting him to enjoy something because it’s good. Because it gives him pleasure. Because he’s of value to her, just as himself, and she wants him to experience something fun because of that.

Here, he’s not a princeling on the rise, or the golden boy heir to a New Republic, scion of a New Jedi Order.

She suddenly _understands_ who Ben was. Not a light side version of Kylo. Not some uncorrupted innocent state. He’d said Ben was an ideal, and she suddenly _gets_ that. Ben was the personification of a galaxy that never had existed, and likely never could. He was the image of the world bathed only in light, somehow casting no shadows.

Here, he’s not a menace. He’s not a font of black power, taking over the galaxy one system at a time. He’s not the image the Resistance uses to recruit. That’s another galaxy that never has, and never will exist, a well of all-destroying darkness only they can conquer.

He’s just a man, staring down at a woman he adores, trying to hold onto a golden heartbeat, for a second, maybe two, more.

She can’t look up at him, can’t make eye contact, but she can open her mind to him, and let him feel what she’s thinking as she slips her lips up and down him, faster, with a little more pressure.

_Enjoy it, Kylo._

He shouts at that. A loud yell of pleasure and acceptance. His body jolts, too. Hips jerking. She almost drops him, almost chokes when he pokes her in the tonsil, but doesn’t, and he yells again, triumph, joy, pleasure, in the sound.

Then he’s quiet, and she’s not sure what to do again. She can feel, at least on his side that he’s done. But she’s not sure what she’s supposed to do. And crouching over him with a mouthful of… she’s honestly not sure what this is called… is getting awkward, fast.

After a few more heartbeats, she feels him pull out of murky bliss. “It’s polite to swallow.”

She pulls off of him, and does. And then sits there, kneeling between his legs.

He lays back, and then raises his head. “Come here.”

She’s awkward at it, and he is, too. Cuddling isn’t part of either of their routines. It takes them a while to find places for knees and elbows, and where her head goes. But, eventually, they settle together, her head on his shoulder, her leg over his hips, and his hand on her thigh.

 

 

* * *

Kylo can feel her wondering if that’s _it._ He kisses her forehead. “No. Give me a few minutes, and that most certainly won’t be _it._ ”

He hasn’t felt this good in years. He’s fairly sure he’s _never_ felt this good. Content, or at least as content as he can be, and peaceful, again, as peaceful as he gets, relaxed, sated, but the kind of sated that goes with eating just enough of a good meal, knowing that desert is a few minutes away.

But… still a few minutes away. He’s not seventeen any more, when he could do it over and over and not even go soft. And right now, he wouldn’t want to be. He can feel it in his bones that he’s supposed to be here, with her, right now, and that nothing’s going to yank him away, no idiot wedding guests are going to wander to the wrong part of the beach, and even if he does yell when he spurts, or better yet, she does, no one’s going to investigate.

They’re here, now, wrapped in a warm little cocoon of gray sand and silver moonlight glinting on a black ocean.

And he just knows they aren’t going anywhere until the moons set, and day breaks.

They’ve got hours, and no need to rush.

He catalogues the feel of her next to, and on him. Her head is on his shoulder, her body next to his, her leg draped over his hip. The soft, moist heat of her breath against his chest. He can feel her skin against him all over, and focus down on the smooth bits right under his fingertips, and the silk fine hairs on her upper leg.

Her hair is down, and trailing over his shoulder and arm. He lifts his hand, petting it, feeling it soft and smooth between his fingers. “Why three?”

“Three?”

“Hair buns… The first time we met, you had three of them…”

She rolls over a little, and scoots down, so she’s on top of him, chin pressed to the center of his chest, body draped over his, looking up at him. He shifts his hands to behind his head, so he can look at her, easily. “I just… always did. Is that… not common?”

“Nothing I’ve ever seen before, but… I see more helmets than hair. Who knows what the Stormtrooper are wearing under the white plasteel? Could have buns all over, and I’d never know.” He smiles a little at that.

She kisses the center of his chest before saying, “Are you joking?”

“Badly.” He strokes her face. “I like seeing you laugh.”

She smiles at him.

“You were laughing a lot between dances…”

“They were telling jokes.”

“Good ones, it looked like.” He’s watching her, expectantly, but she just shakes her head and blushes.

“I…” she shakes her head again. “No. I think you’ve got to be Poe to pull most of them off.”

Now he’s looking _really_ curious. “What sort of jokes were these? Dirty ones?”

She blushes again. “I’m told, where Rose comes from, it’s traditional to sing raunchy songs and tell dirty jokes at a wedding.”

“Come on, you’ve got to remember at least one of them.”

“You like dirty jokes?”

He’s still grinning at her, eyes gleaming with pleasure. “I love the idea of you telling me one.”

She rolls her eyes a little and tries to remember one. “Okay… Fine… Several years ago, Coruscant funded a study to determine why the head on a man's shaft is larger than the shaft itself. The study took two years and cost over 1.2 million credits. The study concluded that the reason the head of a man's shaft is larger than the shaft is to provide the man with more pleasure during sex. After the results were published, Corellia decided to conduct their own study on the same subject. They were convinced that the results of the Coruscant study were incorrect. After three years of research at a cost of in excess of 2 million credits, the Corellian researchers concluded that the head of a man's shaft is larger than the shaft to provide the woman with more pleasure during sex. When the results of the Corellian study were released, Naboo decided to conduct their own study. The Naboon didn't really trust Coruscant or Corellian studies. So, after nearly three hours of intensive research and a cost of right around 75 credits (five liters of beer), the Naboon study was complete. They concluded that the reason the head on a man's shaft is larger than the shaft is to prevent your hand from flying off and hitting you in the forehead.”

Kylo stares at her for a second, enjoying the adorably cute blush across her cheeks, and then bursts out laughing at the joke.

He kisses her, still smiling, and then says, “You’re doing it wrong if the only thing keeping you from bonking yourself in the forehead is the tip of your shaft.”

“I wouldn’t know.” She rubs her toes against the side of his leg, and gently licks his chest. Then she looks up at him, curious, with a little wicked spark in her eyes. “How do you do it right?”

Now Kylo can feel himself blushing. Rey’s shifting around, sitting back between his legs, looking like she really wants to see, and…

“You want me to…” he asks, sitting up.

“You want me to be good at it, right?” He can feel her enjoying that he’s off foot by this, and enjoying the idea of watching him do it even more.

Gods, he’s blushing down to his neck, but… she’s watching… And his shaft is perking up at this idea, or the way she’s watching it, or it’s just been long enough and he’s on a beach with a beautiful, naked woman talking about sex…

He closes his eyes, biting his lip, and is reaching for himself when inspiration strikes. He takes her hand in his, like before, and then licks it, making sure to get it good and wet. “Wet. Wet is always better than dry.”

Rey’s watching him, breathing faster, hanging on his every heartbeat and gesture, and he’s feeling hot and flushed and open and so, so, so _good._

He wraps her hand around the top of his shaft, and starts to rub. “This is good for starting. Not too tight, not too fast.” She’s staring into his eyes, lips parted, watching him so intently. Then she looks down, watching her hand in his, and the steady up down pace he’s setting, his shaft slipping between their fingers. She licks her lips, and he leans into her, catching her lip between his. He gives her a gentle little bite.

She gives him a little squeeze, and he shudders at it. “That’s good, too.” He’s moving their hands all the way up and down, and then shifts, just rubbing the head and inch below. “Top’s the best part. Leave that out, and you might as well not bother.”

“Same with mouth?” she asks, lifting her eyes to his lips, and then meeting his eyes.

He groans at that question, remembering the _feel_ of her mouth wrapped around him. He’s been sucked before, and by women who had _serious_ technique, but… The feel of someone who wanted to be doing it _to him_ mattered so much more. That said, the idea of someone sucking him because she likes doing it, because he likes having it done and _with_ good technique… His toes curl at the idea and he feels a hot shivery rush at it.

Showing her how to do it… That gives him another shiver. He takes her hand from his shaft, and extends her first finger. “Like this.” He licks all over her finger, slipping his tongue up and down it, before wrapping his lips around the tip. He sucks the tip, over and over, lips up and down, stopping from time to time to rub the underside with his tongue, or to slowly, gently drag his teeth over the pad of her finger. From stroke to stroke, he’ll slide all the way down, and then back to the tip, then a few fast slides all the way up and down, and more lavish attention to the tip.

She’s still staring at him, eyes dark with desire, glued to his mouth, her body quivering, ripening.

He can’t feel the sensation through her, doesn’t know if it’s soft and wet, or sharp and tingly, or just different. But he can feel she likes it.

He smiles at her, and winks, and _that_ makes her laugh. Loud. Head back, laughing. He gives the tip of her finger a little bite, and pulls off. “Don’t ever bite like that.”

She’s still chuckling. “I think I knew that part.” Then she pulls him close for another kiss. He can feel she doesn’t have the words, no language to explain how this feels or what watching that did for her, but she doesn’t need them.

A thought hits him… Never done… _this_ before. Never went to school. Raised alone… No boyfriends… No girlfriends… Another grin spreads across his face. “Stand up.”

She flashes him a curious look. “Why?” It’s clear she’s got no idea of anything they may want to do that involves her standing up.

His eyes are hot, mischievous, as he says, “Because I want to kiss you the way you kissed me, and it’s easier if you’re standing.”

Her mouth drops open. He can feel that’s literally nothing that’s ever occurred to her, and he kisses her bottom lip, tracing his tongue over it, peppering her upper lip with a multitude of tiny kisses. He feels it when the shock wears off, she goes scrambling to her feet, standing in front of him. He places his hands on her hips, pulling her closer, so she’s right where he can see and touch and kiss… everything.

He gently nuzzles against her belly, laying soft, wet kisses down from her navel to her delta. She gasps when he gets between her lips, and groans, loud, when his tongue touches her jewel.

He does, too. She’s so wet, and slick, and the feel of her skin against his lips and tongue, and her hair against his face, and the _taste…_

It’s been a _long_ time since he’s done this. Since he’s wanted to, and Gods, he _wants_ to.

He’s never had his face pressed against a wet, willing woman, one who mattered to him, who tasted like hope, who moaned at his touch like her life depended on him not ever letting go.

Her hands are clenched in his hair, and her leg draped over his shoulder. Her hips are rolling, and he can feel this is good, but she needs _more._

He shifts one of his hands, dragging it up the inside of her leg, tracing the pads of his fingers over her lips, and her hips jerk at it.

So wet. Just the touch of her against his fingers thrills through him. He wraps them around his shaft, pumping a few times, reveling in the slick, before going back to her. He slips one finger into her, and she groans, loud, and he does, too.

Her body wrapped around his finger feels amazing… So… everything… he wants and craves.

He’s breathing fast. The taste, the feel, the sound of her breathing, fast little moans on each exhale, all of it settles hard and heavy in his shaft. He’s thinking it’s a very good thing she sucked him down before, otherwise he’d be done in about two strokes.

He looks up at her, seeing thigh, belly, and breasts, and two very dark eyes looking down at him. Her lips are parted, and she panting, moving faster, grinding into his mouth, looking for more friction, more feeling, more _him._

He adds a second finger, and again they both groan, loud. So hot and wet and slick, and the in out in out of his hand and the wet slip of his tongue and… He realizes his other hand is on his shaft, and if he keeps that up, he’s going to spurt on her leg.

He wraps his left hand around her calf, and speeds his tongue and fingers.

Her hands clench in his hair, her heel digs into his shoulder, her body jerks, twitches, and she shouts again, loud, so loud, calling out his name to the skies.

That feels good, too. Feels good on his skin and in his ears. Even if no one else heard, especially if no one else heard, his _name,_ sung by her voice, with _pleasure,_ he could bask in that for eons.

He gentles his touches, retreating to light kisses, and his hand falls to his shaft, slicking himself with her wet, feeling his body tense at the sensation, wanting to thrust, and leak, a slow drop of his own wet easing down the tip, at the idea of her wet, so wet, because of something he did, and how all of that hot, wet, glorious Rey is going to be wrapped around him soon.

When she can talk again, when her breath has slowed, she unhooks her leg from his shoulder, and sits in his lap.

She kisses him long and hard, licking her wet off of his lips, sucking gently on his tongue. When she breaks the kiss she says, “I think we should do this a lot.”

That makes him laugh. “Bugger the First Order and the Force, go find a little planet somewhere and fuck until we can’t stand up anymore.”

She looks almost shocked by his language, but gets the feeling those are the sorts of words he only says when he feels comfortable with someone. When he’s relaxed enough to be open, either with his pain, or his goofiness.

“Yes!” She kisses him again, and he cradles her against him.

He kisses her shoulder, and neck, and ear, before saying, “What would we do for the other nineteen hours a day?”

“You’ll show me what a strawberry is. And coffee. I’ve never had either.”

“I’ll do that, no matter what.” If he’s got to send C8 scouring the damn galaxy, the next time they meet, he’s going to have a strawberry, or better yet, a box of them, in hand. “You’ve never…”

“No. Or chocolate. I’ve seen cream, but not sweet, and… I don’t know. Luke looked like drinking it was more of a challenge than a joy.”

“Was it white and fluffy?” He already knows she’s not thinking of what he’s thinking of. You might put sweet cream on a drink, but it’s too fluffy to be a drink.

“Is it supposed to be?” Rey asks.

“If it’s not white, and foamed up so it’s light and fluffy, it’s not what I’m thinking of.”

“No, not like that.”

“Then I’ll bring that, too. It’s good on the strawberries.” An idea hits along with that. He kisses her lips, giving her a light lick, and then says, “And it’ll be better on you.” He lightly touches each nipple, envisioning a little cloud of fluffy white on them, and licking it off of her. He kisses her long and deep, rocking against her a bit, keeping himself burning hot.

His fire reignites hers. She leans back, pulling him with her, so he’s lying on top of her, shaft against her, like it had been before. He gives her a few strokes, and she moans at them. Her hands cup his bottom, legs wrapped over his thighs, urging him forward.

He shifts a bit back and down. Then he’s poised, just touching her, not in, not yet, but against. The softest, wettest, slickest, _best_ sensation, and he wants to hover here, enjoying the anticipation of this moment.

Her eyes open, and she looks up at him, and he’s looking down at her, both of them with moonlight bright eyes, dark with passion, light with desire.

Her right hand finds his left, fingers twining together. “Now, Kylo.”

 

 

He slides forward, jaw clenching, shuddering though the feel of her. Her head falls back, eye closing, mouth open, a sound past her earlier shouts, this one quiet, too intense to be expressed through volume.

His lips meet hers as he rocks over her, every stroke dragging his mouth over her, his chest over hers, and his shaft through her.

His hips and thighs are tight. Part of him wants to pound into her, thrusting as hard and fast as he can, pistoning in and out, but… He’s not a machine, and neither is she. Here, by the ocean, wet, fluid slide, like the waves behind them.

With each slide, the pleasure builds, each withdraw shivers through him, and makes her body twitch around him.

With each slide, the line between his mind and hers melts.

Light gray and dark gray melding, merging, slipping into each other, one wave at a time. He’s feeling her though his body, and he’s feeling his body through hers and the spark of her mind close to his, and the clench of her fingers between his as they rock, and rock, and rock between the dunes by the sea.

In the moonlight, her skin is white, her eyes and hair black, and so is his.

In the moonlight, they stroke together, kindling their own fire.

Her neck is cupped in his hand, and they aren’t kissing, because he can’t keep up eye contact and kiss, but they are watching each other, as their bodies speed. Her legs wrap around his back, and his knees and elbows dig deeper into the sand below them, seeking more purchase so he can go faster.

And faster is better, for both of them. She’s gripping him with arms and legs, pulling him against her, and he’s rocking as fast as he can.

And when the wave hits, when his vision goes white behind his eyes, and his body throbs, sweet, sweet tingles arcing from his shaft to his toes, and through her in wet, squeezing pulses, her eyes gazing up at him is the last thing he sees.

He’s strong enough not to collapse on her, but only because he can flip them with the Force.

A second later, he’s on his back, with her on top of him, her fingers still between his.

 

 

* * *

It’s a _long_ time before his heartbeat returns to normal, and her breath eases to its usual routine.

It’s longer before his mind sorts itself out, pulls back into just his head. It feels cold in there all by itself, like skin after someone had been close for a while and then moves away, but he’s fairly sure that’s necessary for him to function on any level beyond sexual.

He thinks they sleep, but they don’t move. Both of them are too wiped out to do much other than lie together and bask in the glow.

He knows they slept, because he wakes when he goes stiff again, still inside her. She’s three quarters asleep, too, and it may be a dream for all he knows, but it feels so good.

He rolls them to the side, and she pulls back for a moment, rolling over further, so her back is to his chest. He pulls her close, and slips into her again. And from there, mostly asleep, they rock slow and easy.

This time there’s just easy, welcome pulses, and the soft twitch of her body against his.

And then he’s asleep again. His face pressed to the nape of her neck.

 

* * *

He wakes again as the second moon is just touching the ocean horizon. Not too much more night left. She’s solidly asleep now, and he snuggles in as close to her as he can.

He wonders vaguely if she’s on a preventative. Or if she knows what they are. A world without strawberries may not have preventatives, either.

He wonders sharply if it matters, and decides it doesn’t. If they’ve made a child… that’s as the Force wills it. And if it’s happened, it’s so early in the process he can’t feel the spark of new life.

He supposes the next time they meet he should have them.

He kisses her shoulder.

If they have…

A child who will be raised nowhere near him, for all the right reasons. He just hopes he does a better job of making that child feel wanted than his parents did for him. He hopes he does a better job of making sure he… and he just knows that if this child is forming, he’s a he, can trod any path he wishes.

And if he wants to rule, he’ll lay a galaxy at this child’s feet. And if he wants to be a nameless stranger zipping from planet to planet with a fast ship and a good blaster, then he’ll have that, too.

And just before he drifts back to sleep, Kylo wonders if Han felt that way about him, when he held Leia close shortly after the death of Palpatine.


	20. Morning (Rey)

“Rey, REY!”

She jolts awake with a start, and Kylo does, too. They get a heartbeat, one touch, a kiss of his lips to her shoulder, before he’s yanked back to his ship.

Then she’s alone, on the beach, with his cloak, wrapping up in it, fast as she hears Leia’s voice. “I’ve got her! She’s over here. Call off the hunt!”

She sees Leia wave off whoever else is looking for her amid the dunes, and Rey breathes a sigh of relief at it.

Leia looks the situation over, smirks a little, and then settles down on the sand next to her. “Naked people scattered about the dunes. Sign of a good wedding, I always say. Now, my father used to say, you can tell how good a wedding was by the number of babies popping out nine months later. Judging by the state of dress of the guests we’ve been finding, I’m going to guess the number is at least three.”

Rey’s blushing so hard she thinks she’s going to explode.

“Oh, quit your blushing. I wasn’t always old. Been known to enjoy a frolic on the beach or two, myself. And I’ve celebrated a good many weddings over the years, too.”

Rey’s eyes just about fall out of her head at that.

Leia smiles, chuckling, shaking her head, and hands over a flask.

Rey drinks it, realizing she’s thirsty.

Leia takes a drink too, and then looks Rey over, and looks over the clothing strewn around her, only half of which is hers, and the brand new necklace she didn’t have last night, and nods, slowly. “That’s a nice black cloak. I feel like I’ve seen it before.”

Rey winces.

“Quit that, too. I felt him the moment he came near.” She looks Rey over, and Rey can feel the General, the last member of their Rebellion’s officer class, the beating heart of the Resistance, making sure that _she’s_ still part of the Resistance, too.

Apparently, she passes muster.

“You won’t turn him, Rey.”

Rey nods, and Leia looks shocked at that. Rey starts to talk, fast, before Leia decides to begin rethinking if she’s still part of the Resistance. “I don’t think I’m supposed to. I think…” She looks around the planet she’s sitting on, and decides to go at it sideways. “I feel like… There’s something important here.”

Leia looks at the clothing around her, and it’s clear from the look on her face that she’s got an idea of what… who might be here.

“Not… We can… I can go to him and he can come to me. The Force links us, so it’s not… that’s not why _here_. But… there’s something _here_. Something… Real.”

“Something Jedi?”

Rey licks her lips and Leia hands over the flask again. She takes another swig.  “The old books, the Jedi… It’s about… Passiveness. Stillness. Focus. It’s a code for…” she doesn’t have the word.

“Ascetics,” Leia adds, and saying it, Rey now has a word.

“Yes. It’s quiet and still, and like a deep river, there’s power in that, but… The Jedi isn’t intrinsically good. From everything I’ve read about Palpatine’s take over, he could have done it almost as easily entirely from the Jedi side. If he’d believed that him running the Empire was good for the Jedi, instead of good for _him,_ his commitment to the Jedi would have never faltered. If he’d done it coldly, without passion, for the greater good, his tan robes would have never chafed. The Jedi isn’t about the ends to which the Force is used, it’s about _how_ it’s used.”

Leia nods. That fits what Luke’s told her. Fits what Luke wanted to change.

“Leia, what did the Jedi do to anyone who couldn’t live up to their code? Anakin can’t have been the only Jedi to ever stray off the path. There had to have been some who just… couldn’t do it.”

Leia knows the answer to that question, but doesn’t want to say it.  

Rey reads the silence. People who weren’t good candidates for training were left untrained, and if they went wild, or dark, they were hunted down and executed.

“Most people who can feel the Force… They weren’t good candidates, were they? Too hot, too rash, too old or…”

Leia nods slightly at that.

“I’m thinking… It’s time to start working for not just how to use the Force, but why. And… A how that normal people can use. A how that doesn’t isolate us. A how that lets us be part of the galaxy.”

“A how that doesn’t bind Light to stillness?”

Rey nods. “A how that understands stillness and action are important. The Light can be… whatever it is… And… the Dark will be whatever it is. That’s not… The point… I don’t think. The Light and the Dark are rules set up by people, to make people behave in certain ways. They aren’t the Force. I want to get back to the Force, and away from the rules. It’s only in a vacuum that you’ve got light without shadows. And we don’t live in a vacuum.”

“May the Force be with you,” Leia says, voice sharp. She’s not going to forbid Rey from this, but this isn’t Leia’s idea of how the Force is supposed to work.

Rey listens, and really feels, how she says that. “Do you notice, that when we say that, we mean, the only way to do this is with a miracle?”

Leia nods. That’s _why_ they say it. She starts to get up. Rey reaches out, takes her hand for a moment, stopping her. “Leia, if we win… If we get the Republic back, what happens?”

Leia’s smile is dry, and her voice drier, yet. “Let’s just make it to tomorrow. And maybe the tomorrow after that.”

“We’re not going to win, are we?”

Leia smile goes sharp. “Not in my lifetime. Or yours. Twenty years since we ‘won’ against Palpatine, and we’ve got fewer people, less equipment, and our safe places are dwindling. We’ve got a _lot_ of rebuilding to do before we can even start thinking about fighting again.”

“Then help me do this. Help me build a place where… everyone who feels the Force can learn what it is and how to use it.”

“Where you don’t exile the Dark, and where a legion of new Kylos can flourish?”

“Where, with any luck, any Kylo can learn how to use his power and not turn it against the rest of the galaxy. Where he leans the Dark won’t make him a monster, and where… where he can be a little Dark, and not have it strangle every aspect of his life. Where he can learn to balance the Dark in himself with his own Light.”

Leia shakes her head. “You are so in love, child. This won’t end how you think it will.”

“Luke said that, too. And maybe it won’t, but… what else is left for me? Some idiot suicide mission for a Resistance that will fall apart in less than five years as more and more people find the current system unworthy of resisting? He may not be your Ben, but he’s not Snoke, either. Do you really want to be fighting to keep fat and lazy bankers fat and lazy? Is this what you signed up to do?”

She feels Leia flare hot. “Everyone, even fat and lazy bankers, deserve the chance to shape their own lives to their liking without fear of being robbed and murdered by an all-powerful overlord! Your little-bit-Dark killed at least fifty people in the last week, if not more.”

Rey knows that’s true, and hopes, in the future, it will be less true. Hopes that this… idea of hers… means more of where Kylo’s going, and less of where he’s been.

“Then help me train a new generation of Force users to embrace their power and _not_ do that! Let’s teach them how to use their Dark, and not be eaten alive by it. You’ve got money and contacts, and nothing… Good… to do with them right now. There’s no tactical strike you can pull off to win this. There’s no Starkiller to destroy. Even if you could get to Kylo, and take him down, just like with Palpatine, there’s a thousand more behind him, all of them wanting their shot at Supreme Leader. And the Force alone knows how bad the next one is.

“You don’t have to stop spreading the idea of a galaxy of everyone finding their own path. You don’t have to stop the message of self-determination, or of building a Republic. You can seed as many of us who will go into the First Order and work on taking it over from the inside. And you can show an entire generation of young people how to live as a Force sensitive and use that for the betterment of yourself and the people around you.”

Rey can feel that Leia isn’t sold on this plan, but she also knows Rey’s right about the tactical situation. As best they can tell, they’re doing better with Kylo than they would with any of his seconds or thirds in command. And those bankers gave Leia enough to make her own situation better, but not enough to start fighting again. She’s the only player on the board, and she doesn’t have any good moves.

“How would you do it?” her eyes are sharp, thinking about all the different angles.

“I don’t know… Not yet… But… There’s something here.”

“Not a Force spot. I’d feel it if there was one.”

“No. It doesn’t feel like Ahch-To. There’s no powerful Light or Dark here, and maybe that’s why it feels right. There’s just… balance here. Sea and sky and plants and some sort of animals. Birds above and worms below. Nothing to bend young people one way or the other. No way to overbalance to one side or another.”

“How can you have too much Light? The Light—“

“Will burn you if there’s nothing to shade you. And the Dark will blind you without the Light.” She licks her lips, feeling frustrated, then she squeezes Leia’s hand, focusing on the memory of the mosaic in Luke’s cave.

“You see it?”

Leia nods after a minute.

“That’s not just a figure bathed in Light. That’s a Jedi relic from a thousand generations ago. They used to know that the Dark was just as important as the Light. They used to… Understand that balance didn’t just mean all Light all the time.”

Leia sighs. She shakes her head, but doesn’t immediately dismiss Rey. “I’ll think about it. How long do you want to explore here?”

“I don’t know. If you could give me the homing beacon again. I’ll use that to let you know when I need a pick up.”

“What would you do with money and resources?”

“Build something more permanent than tents on a beach. Make sure I’ve got a place to bring students when I’ve got them. A ship to go find them, and bring them here.”

Leia shakes her head again. “Luke and I did this twenty-eight years ago.” She’s looking across the ocean, seeing… maybe Luke’s memory of what happened. Rey knows she could see it when Luke told her about it; Leia probably saw it, too. “He burned that one, and he’ll burn yours if you let him.”

Rey shakes her head. She doesn’t know where their future is going, but she knows that’s a place it’s _not._ “Luke had to fail before he went in search of what the Force needed. He keeps telling me to drop the books, reach out, and feel it. This is what I feel.”

“He’s talking to you?”

“Twice. You?”

“A few times.”

“Ask him the next time you see him.”

“I will.” Leia stands up. She looks Rey over. “Might be a good plan to get a quick dip in the sea before you go back to where everyone else is. No way you got so… disheveled by yourself.”

Rey blushes again.

“Bury his clothing. I don’t care what you do with it when we’re gone, but if anyone else sees them...”

Rey had already been planning on doing that. “I know.”  Rey doesn’t sigh. She’s literally sleeping with the enemy, any of her friends… family… colleagues… here would be well advised to be wary.

 

 

* * *

Two boots, two socks, one pair of pants, one pair of shorts, an undershirt, a tunic, gloves, and a black cloak.

For as much space as Kylo takes up, his clothing fits into a nicely compact hole in the sand.

Once buried, Rey hopes she’ll be able to find this spot again. When she’s here on her own, she’s going to come back, get it. Even if he doesn’t need it, she might. A good warm cloak, and if she cut down the sleeves the tunic would fit her for a coat and then some, could come in handy.

She pats the last of the sand on top of his clothing, and looks around, but there’s nothing to make this bit of beach look any different from any of the other bits of beach around it.

And she doesn’t dare leave a boot toe poking up.

By the time she’s done with that, she’s definitely ‘disheveled.’ Sand is sticking to places sand has no right sticking to, and as someone who grew up in desert, she knows all she’s ever wanted to about that.

Still… she’s eyeing the water warily. Once she steps in and douses herself, all traces of last night wash away.

She wants to hold some lingering ghost of his touch to her skin.

And she can’t.

She squeezes the token. For right now, that’ll have to be his mark. Then she runs into the sea.

 

 

* * *

Floating amid the barely rippling waves, she wonders if she should feel different.

If something _changed._

Kissed and held and loved and… worshipped… when he was on his knees, his mouth on her, eyes gazing up at her… worship… that’s the word that went with that moment. Held with reverence, and joy. Joy… there was joy when they were unraveling into each other. His passion wrapping in and through her calm and both of them meeting together in joy.

Nothing she’d ever had before, but nothing she’d ever felt unworthy of, either. Nothing she’d ever expected, but nothing she’d felt denied.

But… she mostly just feels like her. Maybe… more her than she’d been before.

But she hopes Kylo feels different this morning. She hopes being touched by hands that love him helped burn off some of the dark. She hopes the joy that poured through them lasts, and builds up within him.

And most of all, she hopes she sees him again, soon.

She lets her mind find his, and notices it’s easier now. She’s not sure what he’s doing… She can’t see or hear, just get a feel for his emotional state. He’s not tense or worried. She smiles a little, he might actually be enjoying whatever it is.

 

 

* * *

When she returns to the party, Poe notices the necklace. “That’s what you did with it?”

She nods to him. “Yes. You were right. This is where the Force wants me to go.”

He’s pleased by that, but then says, “You weren’t wearing it last night.”

She lies, fast, and they both know she’s lying, “Forgot about it until this morning. Grabbed it early.”

He just stares, nods, and then looks around the party, wondering who had it tucked under his… her… clothing, and gave it back to her last night.  She changes the subject, “Leia’s talking about a planning meeting, are you sticking around for it?”

“Yes. You?”

She shakes her head. “I think, if Chewie’s willing, that I need to do some scouting.”

Poe looks interested. “For what?”

She taps the necklace. “For a place for this.”

He smiles at that. “When you build it, make sure I know, because there’s a boy in Canto Bight you need to meet.”

“I’ll do that.”

 

* * *

Chewie’s fine with scouting. The Resistance does what it does, and he’ll offer to help, but planning meetings bore him to no end. It’ll just be Leia and Poe and a few others bouncing around ideas and chewing details until they’ve lost all flavor.

So he joins her for her scouting mission. A ‘scouting mission’ strikes him as a good idea for himself, too. After all, smugglers always need places they can stop and hide. They might as well do double duty.

“What do you think?” she asks him as they’re hovering over a lake in the middle of a long grassy plain, about a thousand kilometers from the coast, a few degrees above Lirium’s equator, and on the far side of the mountains.

_At the equator, so weather should be like this year round. Far enough inland to avoid bad storms. Good water source, assuming you can drink it. Grass grows here, so you can probably grow some sort of food, too. No settlements or sign of animals big enough to be a problem. I’ve seen worse._

Rey nods. “Me, too. Lived in worse.”

Chewie agrees.

“Put her down and explore?”

He nods, and lands the Falcon. Waldo hops out with them, takes one look at the lake, makes a disappointed sound, and heads back to the ship.

“Apparently it’s not his idea of what water’s supposed to be,” Rey says. She’s fairly sure more than half of the Porgs are going to stay by the ocean, but Waldo seems fairly certain home is the Falcon, now.

Chewie nods at that, too. He strides across the stone beach, and takes a sample of the water. His computer whirls and beeps as it analyses. _Might not taste good, but it won’t hurt you._

Rey steps over, kneels, cups her hands, and takes a sip. There’s a strong mineral tang to the water. “I’ve had worse. Anything that’s even remotely wet you drink on Jakku. This is clean, at least, and fresh.”

Chewie nods again.

Rey looks up at him, reading the _So, you gonna cut the banthashit and tell me what’s going on_ vibe from him.

“Yes.” She looks around, and then deciding they’ve got space a plenty, she takes her lightstaff, and twists it. The blade extends, perfectly. It’s not the same color it was. The blue has darkened, and it’s got a slight crimson halo to it, but it’s steady and the right length.

She goes through a few moves, and this feels right. She can use a saber, but it’s not her weapon. A staff, a staff for a Force user, that’s what belongs in her hands.

 _New Jedi Academy?_ Chewie asks.

Rey shakes her head. And in a heartbeat, she’s got a feeling this is something Chewie will understand much more readily than the rest of her crew. 

“No. New words. I don’t know what we’ll be yet, but we won’t be Jedi. We won’t be dedicated to the Light, just to the Force. We’ll be Light when we need to be, and Dark as needed, and sometimes that will make us uncomfortable, and sometimes it won’t, but…” She’s staring up at him. “There’s not a one of us born who was ever all Dark or all Light, and I think it’s time we embrace that, and stop trying to smother the Dark, or the Light. It’s time to pull balance into ourselves, not leave it out there, to the Force to fix.”

Chewie does smile at that. _You’d have made a great smuggler._

“And depending on what I have to do to get this up and running, and protect it, I might still be.”

That gets a howl of approval. _What do you need?_

“Right now… Time to think, and plan, and a few solar panels so I can charge my datapad.”

Chewie rolls his eyes and says something under his breath that Rey takes to mean _amateurs._ Then he pats the ground next to them, sits down, and begins to list, in detail, what someone needs to set up a functional hideout.

He’s two thirds of the way through when Rey says, “All this, really?”

_You think I’ve never done this before? I’ve got safe havens spread across fifty planets in as many systems. You make sure that anyone can land, refuel, buy supplies… Seed a town, and you’ve always got a place you can land. Make sure you’re just an inch on the right side of the law, pay off the right people, and no one pays any attention to you. Like Maz. Everyone knows where she is and what she’s doing, but it’s useful for her to be there, so no one bothers her._

_Set up a secret hideout, just for you, and anyone who notices it gets suspicious._

_Same with this. Trade with whomever, and if there’s a school on the lake… No one’ll blink. Traders have sprogs, they need a place for them to learn. Stick a school in the middle of nowhere, and you might as well put up a sign_ I’M DOING SOMETHING WORTH INVESTIGATING!!!! _Set it up next to a town, and it’s not a big deal, at all._

“I just have to make sure the right people run the shops and market?”

_Exactly. And as some of the right people get a little too hot, they may ‘retire’ for a year or two to run a cantina, wait for the heat to die down, and get back to it._

She stares at him, assessing him, trying to get a good feel for him, and then does, and says, “You know what Orlac’s doing, don’t you?”

Chewie nods at that, too. _I’m not supposed to, but when Lando got sick for the last time, he let Han and I know. He didn’t want us… thinking badly… of his son._ _Is that what you’re going to do?_

“Maybe. Orlac takes everyone, and I’m just thinking of Force users, but… He said something, he’d rather have people painting and writing about bloody battles than off fighting them, and… I’d rather have people balancing the Dark and Light inside themselves, instead of the Force rising up warriors of Light and Dark to fight each other, forever.”

_And maybe you don’t get all of them, but everyone you do get…_

“That’s one fewer person on the board to balance. One fewer Light or Dark that has to rise to even things out.”

Chewie inclines his head at her. _You do that, you and Kylo will be the last of the great powers._

“If I’m lucky. If I do this right, they’ll be like Leia. Some power, some sensitivity, but balanced enough inside themselves that they won’t need to fight on a galactic scale to even things out.”

_You aren’t that lucky._

She nods. “Probably not, but I’ve got to try.”

 _Yes, you do._ Chewie looks out over the lake. _There’s one advantage to a school in the middle of nowhere… He’d be able to walk around here, openly. At least until you’ve got enough students who might recognize him. If he went back to the mask, I guess he’d have more flexibility in where he could go when he’s not wearing it._

Rey’s eyes go wide.

_You don’t have to be Force sensitive to know what’s going on. Just paying attention. You think you can sneak him onto my ship and I wouldn’t notice? You think I didn’t feel it when I took you to him? I can still smell him on you._

Her eyes are still wide, and she’s scared.

Chewie pats her shoulder, letting her know to calm down. If he was going to do something about this, he would have done it by now. _We’ll never be friends, and he’s not my nephew, not anymore. I’ll never… be in the same place with him, not voluntarily._

_Han knew, we both did, that he had months, not years left. That’s why he took you on. Why he offered the job to Finn, too. And I’m going to offer it to them as soon as I’m back there. You can’t do this job, not well, not alone. And you’re not going to be my partner._

Chewie’s still looking at the lake, the tiny waves lapping at the round stones of the beach. _He didn’t murder my friend. The cancer in his bones was already doing that. Same thing happened to Lando and Wedge, and if Luke hadn’t had the Force, it’d have happened to him. You can’t get that close to an exploding Death Star, not if you’re human. It’ll kill you slow if it doesn’t get you fast._

 _You saw the way he was walking, the limp… his thigh was already going bad, and it was only going to get worse. So, he didn’t murder my friend, but he stole… three months… five… Our last great adventure… Something like that. Short months, but those were months I_ wanted _with him._

“I…”

 _Didn’t know. That’s why I winged him, instead of killing him. I knew._ There’s a lot of pain in Chewie’s eyes as he thinks of it. _You watched him stab Han, and love him anyway._

She swallows. “Yes.”

_And you hate that he did that. You don’t approve or condone it._

“No.”

 _I felt that way about Han joining the Rebellion. About giving Ben up to Luke. About… All of it, really. We were never meant to be respectable. We weren’t supposed to win medals or dress up and drink expensive beverages that are barely alcoholic while making_ small talk. _We were meant to live on the edges, to dance between the Dark and Light, and when that’s what the Rebellion was, it was fine. And then it wasn’t…_

Chewie blinks hard, and Rey realizes they never had any sort of memorial for Han. He was there, and then he was gone, and they were moving fast, off to Ahch-too and…

And Luke never sought Chewie out to commiserate about his loss.

And Leia hugged _her_ when she got back from Starkiller.

And she and Han had split years earlier.

And only an orphan can look at a family like that and think it’s what a family is supposed to be.

She scoots a little closer to Chewie and wraps an arm around him.

Chewie howls, loud, pain ripped from his lips. And she understands, he loved Han the way she loves Kylo. In all things, and against his better judgement, because the two of them were _right._ Even when they were _wrong._

She holds onto him for a long time, and together, they cry over the loss of Han Solo.  


	21. Morning (Kylo)

The sight of a droid attempting to look under Kylo’s bed while muttering to itself about the fact that Kylo’s got a mass of at least 85 kilos, so there’s no possible way he could be located under said bed, but that was the only place it hadn’t looked, and it’s not like a human can just magically disappear out of a stateroom with only one door in a moving starship, greets Kylo when he does, magically, appear back in his room.

He’d wondered if his body went with him, or if it stayed here and his mind filled in any and all blanks, but, apparently the answer is that he’s… teleporting, or something.

At least this last time. Given that he’s naked, save for the sand clinging to his skin from him rolling off the cloak when he heard his mother calling Rey's name, it’s clear that he was really… wherever Rey was. Given that he could see the other members of the party, their ships, the moons, the plants, and everything else, apparently the Force trusted him to behave.

Given no one else saw him… Or heard them… Apparently, for once the Force was on his… their… side.

“C8.”

Technically, droids cannot be startled unless they’ve been programmed for it. Nor can they be worried, scared, or any other of a slew of emotions. Kylo certainly requested that C8 come with a full compliment of tactical thought and analysis abilities, but he didn’t want it to get too human, so it’s not supposed to feel.

It still jerks up at the sound of his voice, and thought it doesn’t exactly have expressions, it sounds surprised when it says, “My lord! Where were you?”

“I said I wasn’t to be disturbed.”

“You did, sir.”

“Have we been attacked?”

“No, but you also, like every day, request breakfast at the tenth hour, and it is now ten minutes to the twelfth hour.”

He smiles a little, pleased the Force gave them a long night, and figuring that’s why, given how little sleep he got, he’s not completely exhausted.

“Where were you, My Lord?”

He’s not sure how to answer that.

“I’m not trying to be impertinent, but if there had been an attack, I would have had no way to inform you.”

Kylo nods. “I’ll make sure to keep some sort of comm device on me. As for where… Do you know anything about the Force?”

“Very little. It exists. Many people worship it. Some people are granted powers by it. You are one of them.”

“That’s good enough. I can use it to travel, and sometimes leave the ship. From now on, I’ll make sure to have something so you can communicate with me if you need to. But only if it’s an emergency. Anything short of a full blown attack, and you do not contact me if I’m not here.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Kylo nods. Then another thought hits. “C8, you are to repeat that to no one, ever. Unless you have my express permission, and I am present.”

“Noted, sir. You have a meeting with your generals at the top of the hour. Would you like me to bring your food?”

“Yes.” He looks at himself. “And lay out an outfit. I’ll be ready shortly.”

 

 

* * *

If there was ever a day Kylo would have liked more time for a shower, today is it.

Actually, what he’d really like is to be back on wherever they were, enjoying the sunrise, wrapped around Rey, wake up slowly, maybe go at it again, and then go back to sleep. Fucking until they can’t stand anymore might not be a long-term life goal, but for a day or two…

Barring that, time to lay around in his own bed, let her scent linger on his skin, remember every touch and sound, play it all out, again and again in his own mind, would be an acceptable second.

As it is, he’s got maybe ten minutes…

At least he doesn’t have to get undressed. That sets a spike of fear through him. He’s naked. Rey was on the beach, with his clothing, with the Resistance looking for her, and his mother who’d be able to tell who that clothing belongs to…

He lets his mind find hers, easier now than before. There’s no visual link, but he can sense her, and she’s not in distress. Maybe a little embarrassed, but no one is holding her at blaster-point cross examining her about the black boots and cloak.

That sends an idle thought through him as he flicks on the water, how startled would the Resistance be if he showed up naked with a flaming sword to fight at her back?

The idle thought goes cold… If they knew… Would they attack her to draw him out?

He exhales long and hard on that one, feeling the chill down his back as he steps into hot water.

A colder one arcs through him… Unless he felt it through his side, he’d never know. She wouldn’t call for his aid. Not if it was a trap for him. One day he’d reach out, and there’d just be nothing. That makes him feel sick.

He closes his eyes and lets himself feel… She’s… he doesn’t know, talking maybe. Nothing bad. Nothing dangerous.

His fingers rise to where the token would be, if he were wearing it. A comforting thought slips into his mind, if she’s there to balance him, as long as he’s okay, nothing… too bad… can happen to her. A disconcerting thought goes with it, if that’s true, the converse is as well, and if he wants to guarantee her safety, he has to take care of himself.

 

 

* * *

“All is as it should be, sir.”

Kylo nods and takes a bite of his protein bar. It’s… bland… maybe, sort of sweet. He’s not sure what flavor it’s supposed to be. It’s 900 calories of mostly complete nutrition, and he gets three of them a day. To go with it, he has two tubes of vitamin mush. Between them, it’s everything his body needs to keep going.

Supposedly they’re manufactured off in… He doesn’t actually know. Not on the Supremacy. They buy them by the ton, keep them in deep storage, and bring them out as needed. Each Stormtrooper is supposed to carry them on their person whenever they leave the ship.

There is a canteen. On a ship this size there are several of them. He could eat there.

There’s a chef, too. Hand-picked by Snoke, because he could make… whatever it was Snoke liked. He and Snoke never shared a meal. Given the damage to his throat and face, Kylo’s fairly sure that Snoke never ate in public, not wanting others to see him chew and swallow.

He sticks to the protein bars and mush these days, because he can go to where they store them, reach into one of the boxes, and grab them as needed. They could be poisoned, but anyone trying to take him out that way would have to be willing to poison an entire storage container of sealed food. Difficult, not very efficient, and high cost of collateral damage, low chance of success.

He still has C8 scan his food before he eats it.

But he does have C8 now.

So… he could… if he so desired… eat for pleasure. He tries to remember how long it's been since he's done that. Eating for the sake of enjoyment wasn't banned by Luke, but they all shared mess duty, and the food was about as good as you'd expect from a group of people who never learned how to cook beyond the most basic level of apply heat to food long enough to kill all of the germs. And since his rise as the Master of the Knights of Ren, he's stuck to packaged food he could pick at random, keeping the possibility of poisoning low. Strawberries with sweet cream, coffee with chocolate... Those were treats from his childhood.

Better yet, he could… probably… set a table with good things, and call a companion to come eat with him…

Just the idea of it makes him happy. Until he realizes that if he does that, he’s very rapidly going to have people wondering who he’s eating with.

Not that, then. He remembers the bits of the wedding he could see. The dark one and his… bride… probably, he thinks they were the ones getting married… were sharing a plate and cup.

New meaning to the term intimate dinner for two, but absolutely doable. He likes the idea of offering Rey nibbles of tasty things off his plate.

Still safer to eat wherever she is, though. If he goes to her, there’s no chance of some idiot bursting in on them. But that doesn’t mean they couldn’t, at least occasionally, eat here. His door does have a lock on it, after all.

Kylo supposes he could find out where she is. Three moons, two suns, one green and one blue, oceans, mountains, atmosphere suitable to humans, somewhere the Falcon and more than a dozen other pieces of flying junk, half of which didn’t have hyperspeed capability, could get to. Couldn’t be more than a score of planets that fit that description. It wouldn’t take him more than an hour or two to find it.

His city killers could be there in a few more minutes.

One strike and the Resistance would finally, fully, be done. One shot on the beach… he’d take them all out before they even knew he was hovering overhead.

Instead of shuddering victory, complete triumph, the idea leaves him feeling flat.

He pokes it a little. What if Rey weren’t there? The idea still leaves him feeling flat.

He can imagine it, but what would be the point? No leader ever born was blessed with complete adherence to his rule. It’s possible he’s better off with a Resistance he knows inside and out, can predict, and by ignoring them, allow his less content subjects to spend their ire in directions that may be troublesome, but won’t really hurt… If he’s very lucky, they’ll start attacking sympathetic targets, and make him look even better.

He supposes he should gather some of his more flexible troops, take them out of their uniforms, and set them in some out of the way cantinas and smugglers dens, and seed them into the Resistance, just to keep tabs on them.

Without having to use Rey to do it.

He’s barely done thinking that before C8 says to him, “I’m getting a report from the accounting department, sir.”

Kylo gestures letting him know he’s interested, taking another bite of his bar.

“The R’Leahn system has refused to pay their quarterly taxes.”

Kylo chews for another few seconds, thinking, before he asks, “Do you think they’re very brave or very stupid?”

C8 debates for a moment. “I think they’re testing you to see what happens. They know Starkiller is gone, and are likely feeling safe at the moment.”

“Likely. Remove our presence from their system, all of it. Every ship, man, station, builder, get them all out. Cancel any contracts we have with anyone who is situated there. Send notice that anyone who does any business with anyone in the R’Leahn system will have their contracts cancelled in the next three days if they do not immediately remit their taxes in full.”

Droids can’t smile, and maybe it’s Kylo just reading his own feelings onto C8, but he’s got the feeling that he approves as he says, “Done, sir.”

“Also… can you find me strawberries?”

C8’s thinking. “Fresh or freeze dried?”

“Fresh.”

More thinking, likely going through the Supremacy’s manifests, figuring out when they’re bringing on new supplies, and from where.

“Ten days, sir. I can have reconstituted frozen ones here in five minutes.”

“I’ll wait.”

“How many?”

He hasn’t eaten one in so long, he’s actually not sure how many he wants. “Place a standing order for a kilo of them, for me, every time we get fresh produce from somewhere with strawberries.”

“Noted, sir. Anything else?”

“Yes… Do we have chocolate on board?”

“Yes, sir. Your generals are gathering, sir.”

Kylo puts down the bar, one bite left. He’ll get to it later. “Then I shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

 

 

* * *

Unlike the last time he sat with his generals, listening to them talking about their sections of the galaxy, Kylo is actually paying attention.

And, unlike last time, this time they aren’t just coming off of the tumult of battle. None of them have seen any active combat beyond mild, skirmish-level fighting in months.

He listens to how they’re integrating new trainees, (Not too many, yet, but the flood is beginning.) where they’re allocating their men, how they intend to integrate the planet killers, which are really starting to roll out of production. Two of them have noticed that several new models of their new transport ships do not appear to function properly. They fly, but if you push them at all, they just die, and float around space like an asteroid. Apparently they aren’t quite up to spec.

Kylo makes a note of that, and tells C8 to have the manufacturers brought to him. He figures they cannot be nearly as difficult to persuade as bankers. A few moments of his _displeasure_ should result in functional transports.

And if it doesn’t… There’s always another manufacturer.

And... he supposes he could move building them into his own organization... A few more moments of exuberant involuntary patriotism could solve many problems... That can wait for later. See how the first meeting goes. See if they can produce what they say they'll produce. If they can't... Then he'll take care of it.

None of his generals have any intelligence on the Resistance. It has, for the time being, gone to ground.

They are having some issues with raiders from the Unknown Regions. Apparently it’s just as lawless and wild as it was when he joined Snoke there, using it as a place to hide out and build. And compared with the rest of the galaxy, it's his only main security concern. 

Kylo brings up a map of the galaxy. “A trillion stars. More planets than anyone could possibly count.” His ships, his planets, his bases glow bright green amid myriad dots spinning around over the conference room table. “Only a fool wants all of it.” He gently touches the quadrant where most of his people are, expanding the view of it. Then he narrows it down, into quadrants again. “Anything outside of this section, we’re pulling out of. 1.5 million troops to handle a billion planets is insanity. We’re going to focus in on this area. Nine thousand systems,”

He looks to C8. “Sixty-eight thousand, nine hundred and eleven planets, sir.”

“Is more than enough, for now. We can barely manage to even show ourselves regularly on all of them, let alone hold and protect them. I want to shift a tenth of our men to patrolling the border with the Unknown Regions. They can do whatever they like on the far side of the line, but any raider who crosses it will be destroyed without warning.”

“How will we know legitimate traders?” One of his generals asks.

“They can register with us. Registered ships will have free travel. The ones who don’t, won’t.”

“And the bases we’re leaving?” Another general asks.

“Take everything we can move, and anyone who wants to come. I’m going to want fortification plans for where to move our troops to provide a better tactical base of the part of the galaxy we can hold. Say… a month to plan it, and then another month to implement it.”

His generals look surprised. They probably expected him to want it done yesterday, if not the day before.

One of them, tentatively, says, “It can be done, sir, but it can be done better if we had more time…”

“How much more?”

They all look at each other, and the tentative one says, “I think an additional two weeks to gather up intelligence reports, so we can do a better job pinpointing what parts of the galaxy would most benefit from our outposts would do it.”

Kylo nods at that. “Six weeks.”

His generals nod, and he gives them their leave.

As they walk out, he lets his mind trickle through theirs. They’re pleasantly surprised at how that went. Half of them are genuinely looking forward to what is going to happen next. Two are still planning on killing him when they get the chance, but they think consolidating first, and letting a decent number of the new recruits get into place, is a good plan.  

He rolls his eyes at that. They’ll let him do the hard work, and swoop in to take over, once the machine is functional.

As long as they get their parts up and running, he’s not too worried. He’ll finish them long before they move on him.

After all, he’s _motivated_ now to keep himself alive.

 

 

* * *

It occurs to him, once his generals are gone that perhaps, in the past, when certain members of their military have said, under their breaths, or when feeling ridiculously foolhardy, to his face, “Get fucked!” it might have actually been good advice.

He’s thinking that was the most successful meeting he’s ever had with his general staff.

Snoke didn’t demand celibacy. But he tended to treat sex as an inexplicable weakness humans engage in from time to time. As such, he tolerated it, but didn’t encourage it. He preferred they focus their passions elsewhere.

Luke did demand celibacy, seeing sex as being dangerously close to opening a door for the Dark side and inviting it in for tea. He knows that that was Luke, though, and not a requirement of the Jedi as a whole. And, seeing that the students at his school were, like Kylo, at most, twenty-two years old, and many were adolescents, that may have had more to do with their age and levels of personal control, than an ironclad rule for older Jedi. That didn’t stop them from experimenting with themselves and each other, but it did do a good job of making them feel guilty and nervous about it, after.

Given the tenants of the Jedi faith, Kylo’s not entirely sure how Jedi sex would work; serene, passionless sex of perfect harmony sounds boring to Kylo, if not outright impossible. But, probably some level of it was necessary to beat ignorance into oblivion.

He must have been smirking at that idea, because C8 rests his hand against Kylo’s throat, fingertip just above the spot that throbs with his pulse.

“C8?”

“You are acting bizarrely. I’m checking to see if you’ve been poisoned.”

Kylo raises an eyebrow.

“Your serotonin, oxytocin, and endorphin levels are high. Have you eaten or drunk anything besides the protein bar?”

“No, C8. What causes elevation of those chemicals in human males?”

“Certain anti-depressants, a few recreational pharmaceuticals—“

“Ones who didn’t sleep in their own bed the night before?”

It takes a moment for C8 to understand that Kylo means sleep both literally and metaphorically, before he responds with, “Orgasm, sir.”

“Exactly. And that is why you are not to mention my nocturnal wanderings to anyone without my express permission.”

“Understood, sir.” C8 thinks for a moment. “Would this also have something to do with your request for fresh strawberries?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will not speak of that, beyond getting them for you.”

“Good. Who’s next?”

“I have located our uniform designer, and he is waiting for you.”

“Bring him in.”

 

 

* * *

It’s not a long conversation. The designer is fairly young, about Kylo’s age, and once he’s sure that he’s not about to have his head ripped off for some unintentional slight, he’s very excited by the challenge of designing new uniforms for all sorts of species.

Changing their badges and marks of rank to indicate who a citizen is pleases him even more.

Through his years under Snoke, Kylo wasn’t actually a member of the First Order. He was Order adjacent, which annoyed Hux to no end, and was likely _why_ Snoke set it up that way.

All of that boils down to the fact that, never having worn a First Order uniform, Kylo’s never paid any real attention to them.

The Designer is showing off the traditional badges, the white circle with sixteen rays on the hexagonal field of black. “We could give the circle an outline in red, that would be easily visible, but not so work intensive that we’d have to redo everyone’s uniforms.

“Not red.” Their flags are red, because Snoke liked it. As more and more time passes, Kylo’s feeling less drawn to that color.

“Okay… Well…” He’s thinking about it.

“Blue?” Kylo asks.

“Light blues will blend into the white too closely, dark blues will blend into the black.”

Kylo figures that gray will have the same problem. “Silver?”

The Designer nods. “Silver we can certainly do. Something with a nice metallic sheen, that’ll pop against the white and black.”

Kylo nods at that. He spends another moment looking at their symbol. He’s never paid much attention to it, but right now… “It looks like a toothy mouth about to devour everything in its path.”

He feels a flash of fear from the Designer. He doesn’t want to voice his own opinion of the symbol for fear of insulting Kylo, or Snoke’s memory. “An apt metaphor, sir?”

Kylo mentally smirks at that. He says, “I’d like a mock-up of one with the rays extending all the way to the center.”

The Designer doesn’t immediately hate it, so there’s something. “Can I ask what you’re hoping to make people think of when they see this?”

“Moving forward. The past behind us, dead and buried. The future before us. Moving into it, fast, fearless.”

“You want the rays to look like hyperspace?” The Designer has an idea of what Kylo’s reaching for.

“At least give the idea of it.”

The Designer nods. “I can do that.”

“Good, how long for prototypes?”

“Two or three days.”

That seems like a reasonable amount of time to Kylo. As he’s thinking about that, another idea occurs to him. “Do you know what my mask looked like?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I need another one.”

The Designer has to think about that for a moment. “That will take longer. Two weeks?”

“Good. C8 will schedule times for your to show me what you’ve done.”

The Designer knows he’s been dismissed, and leaves.

A few minutes later, when C8’s worked out the details, he joins Kylo. “What do you intend to do with the mask, sir?”

“Take it off. I’ve been Supreme Leader for more than six months, and have yet to take the time to stand up before my subjects and show myself. Most of them, even on this ship, have never seen my face.”

“A coronation, sir?”

Kylo thinks about that. “In reverse. I was born to rule, C8, might as well get up and start doing it.”  

“I’ll set it up.”

“Thank you,” It’s out of his mouth before he’s even thought of it, but it occurs to Kylo, that this is the first time he’s thanked anyone, for anything, in decades.

More than that, he realizes he means it.


	22. Chocolate

Rey’s arms, legs, back, hips, _everything…_ are tired. Her eyelashes are tired.

She knows that in the privacy of her mind she’d been complaining about not having enough physical stuff to do onboard the Falcon, but… Building a school from scratch, even with the Force, is _hard._ (She’s also thinking that she’s been lazing around _far_ too much lately. She shouldn’t be this tired from moving rocks.)

She’s got something to show for it though. At her feet, is the start of the floor of her first building. It matches the swirl on her token, as closely as she can.

The rocks by the lake are a multitude of grays. No white, no black, but every color in between. And for the last three hours she’s been lugging them to a place she cleared off, a circle about ten meters wide, laying them out in the swirling pattern.

Chewie will be back in a few days, with some translucent plasteel for a dome, building materials for other cottages, equipment, water purification systems, solar power generators, a speeder so she can explore more than twenty kilos a day. The seeds of a small town.

She cans see the start of her town in her mind. Most of the buildings will be small and functional. She’ll put them further away from the lake. But this space though, this feels like it should be as close to the water as it can be. Land and water, earth and sky... A spiral below her feet, and above it, a dome of clear panels, letting the day and night shine through.

There will never be any artificial light in here. And right here, at the equator, day and night are even.

She doesn’t have a new name for them, but this, here, will be the first temple of whatever it is they are.

She senses him behind her, surveying her day’s work.

“First Church of the Balanced Force… Doesn’t exactly sing the way Jedi does, does it?”

Kylo’s behind her, looking around at the swirl. “It doesn’t exactly skip off the tongue, that’s true.” He looks up to the sky. It’s the same planet they were on before. Yesterday, he was here the moment he finished eating his supper. Today he’s done the same. Yesterday, it was well into night. Now one of two suns is down, but the other is still providing everything with an eerie green sunset glow. Obviously, they aren’t particularly close to where they were before.

She turns to him, seeing he’s got something in his hand. A rectangle in some sort of silvery wrapper. “Is that a strawberry?”

“They’re a bit more complicated to get than I was expecting.” He strides over, and kisses her. Then he holds up the bar. “This is chocolate.”

“Will I like it?”

“I hope so.” He’s unwrapping it, looking at the floor beneath their feet. “You had a busy day.” She used her lightstaff to clear the ground, so at his feet is a few meters of swirl, and several more meters of singed dirt.

“Productive, I’m not sure about busy. You?”

“Not too bad. We’ll see what happens tomorrow.”

“Do I want to know?”

He breaks a piece of the chocolate off, and holds it out to her. She takes it, looking at it. It’s dark brown, almost black, and smooth, and smells… sweet and bitter and… it… for the first second on her tongue, she doesn’t taste much of anything, then it begins to melt and the… she’s never had anything… ever… even remotely like it. She can’t describe it. Its _chocolate_ flavor floods her mouth and she blinks hard.

She’s not entirely sure if she likes it, but it’s intense and new and different, and she can see Kylo’s eyes close as he eats a bite of it himself. He’s enjoying it.

Intense and new and different, that seems to be where the Force is taking her.

“Sure, tell me.” She takes a few steps, and sits down on the ground, not on her floor, it’s hard and bumpy rock, and right now grass sounds so much better than rock. He sits next to her. She thinks about it, and stretches out, head in his lap. She opens her mouth, and he gives her another piece of the chocolate. Second bite, she decides this is okay.

He’s sitting, legs splayed out, chocolate bar next to them, one hand in the grass, behind him, supporting him, one gently stroking her hair. “One of my systems got cocky, and are saying they don’t want to remit their taxes.”

She tenses, waiting to see what he does with it. “And tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow I should have all of my people, ships, and installations pulled out. All of my contracts with anyone in the system cancelled. Their leaders should be getting frantic communications from everyone in the galaxy who has a contract with me begging them to pay their taxes, otherwise I’ll cancel those contracts, too.”

She’s not sure what to think of that. It’s better than, “And then I called out my fleet and executed the entire political class of the system by taking out their capitol world.” That’s certain.

She nudges his hand, and he gives her another bite. She’s got the sense she can’t eat too much of this, it’s sweeter and richer than anything she’s ever eaten before, and too much will make her stomach feel off, but it’s growing on her.

“And if they still don’t pay?”

He’s looking across the lake, seeing the green sun sinking into the horizon beyond it. “A lot of business that work with them will either boycott them, cut ties with them so I don’t cut off my credits, or they’ll make sure the people in charge change their minds.”

“Or take them out.”

“If it’s in their best interest. If money alone won’t sway them.” He looks down at her, one hand gently stroking her hair. “I think they’ll pay. It’s in their interest to do so. If they were a little system in the middle of nowhere, I couldn’t try this, but they’re a central trading hub. I think this should work.” He looks over at the floor. “It looks good.” The compliment is honest, but it’s also a little awkward. He’s not used to doing things like that.

“Thanks. Not killing them… I think that’s a good solution.”

He looks down at her, and kisses her forehead. “We’re terrible at this.”

She squeezes his hand. “We’ll get better.”

He offers her another piece of the chocolate. She takes it, but bites it in half, only having a little of it.

“Do you like chocolate?”

“Maybe… Is it possible to get it a little less… chocolate?” She’s thinking it might be good mixed into something else.

He laughs, and nods, then sighs and shakes his head. “Yeah. This is dark chocolate. It comes in milk and white, too.”

“Is milk in between light and dark?”

“Yes.” He notices her eyes are drifting shut. She’s relaxing against him. “I’ll bring milk next time.”

She nods, and he lays back, too. “Can you stay long?” she asks.

“Not too long. The excitement… It’s possible, when I cancel those contracts and pull my people out, the R’Leahn will attack me. They might fight to try and keep my people in place.”

That doesn’t make much sense to Rey, but it wouldn’t be the first time someone did something that didn’t make any sense to her.

“C8 doesn’t think it’s likely, less than 20% odds, but it’s possible. I should be on hand for that.”

“Okay. Will you kill them?”

“If they attack me. Otherwise, I’ll just let them go.”

Rey nods; she can abide by that.

His hand finds hers. “Come back with me? Get a bath, with me? Spend a night with me in a real bed? I can’t promise uninterrupted sleep, but it’ll be more comfortable than a tent on bare ground.”

She smiles at that, and feels them slip to his ship. Sun-warmed grass below her turns to cool plasteel. Emerald sunset shifts to black walls and cool, unshifting blue-gray light.

They’re on the flood in his room, in front of his pool. Warm water soaking into sore muscles, and the chance to tell him about what she hopes to do with her school… church… experiment… thing. She’s not sure what, exactly, it’s going to be. Just that it _is._

Right now that sounds excellent.

She kisses Kylo. “Scrub my back, and I’ll tell you about my day?”

His eyes are bright as he says, “Yes!”

 

* * *

A/N: So, we’ll leave them, for now, talking, undressing, and getting a bath.

But… Wait… What about… Is Rey pregnant? How will Kylo rule? What happens with Rey’s school/church/thing? Will Leia join Rey, teaching little Force users how to be gray? (Will Leia ever come to terms with being a gray Jedi?) (Will they even be Jedi?) And on and on…

Some background: I write _sagas._ This was supposed to be a quick one off to help me move on from the 2.8 million word NCIS fic I just ended. (If you like NCIS, Tim McGee, unconventional romances born out of a conventional one, lots and lots and lots of politics/economics/real world stuff, and a real world set hero’s journey with TONS of melt-your-keyboard, don’t-read-it-in-public sex, this might be for you.) (And if the idea that a 60,000 word story is quick is mentally staggering to you, just realize I’m not kidding about _sagas_.)

But, gosh, I write sagas, and my one off, get Kylo and Rey into bed for a pile of happy force smut kind of… expanded.

The main ideas I intended to work with: balancing the two of them, getting deeper into the Tao of the Force, touching on what it means to be Supreme Leader, happy force smut, I feel pretty solid on. Character arc one, all checked off. Rest assured, I’ll be writing some sequels to this. (I’m 8,000 words into Gossip, which will be the second book of the BalanceVerse.) There’s just too much good stuff to play with for Tension/Balance to be the end all be all of this.

For right now, though, I’ve got some original fiction I’ve been ignoring for far too long. So I need to retreat from fanfic for a bit, and spend a bit of time with my dragons.

If you want to keep track of me, I’m on twitter and Instagram as KerylRaist. If you’d like to see what else I’ve been up to, fiction-wise, feel free to google Keryl Raist. I write everything under one name. If you like dark, tortured, somewhat self-destructive, anti-hero types, with a long, slow burn, oodles of sexual tension, red hot sex, and magic set in the real world, my _Sylvianna_ novel might be right up your alley. Fluff? _Happily Ever After_ should scratch that itch. Snarky Vampire meta-meme wankfests? _Hunter’s Tale’s Volume One_. Dragons? Google Keryl Raist, _M’Gy Dragons_ , and I’ve got shape-shifting dragon knights in an ongoing illustrated serial that could certainly use the love. (The aforementioned original work I’ve been ignoring too long.)

I’ve loved getting notes from all of you, had an absolute blast writing this, and hope you’ve loved this as much as I did.

See ya round, kids. ;)


	23. Rumors/Gossip

Okay guys, [the sequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14015985) is up. More of everything you liked about Tension/Balance is back.

 

 

And this time, it's illustrated!

 

 


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